Envenom
by Clez
Summary: When Tom Sawyer does not escape from Venice, but rather, is taken, there will be pain, suffering, torture and loss: is there any room for hope? .Anonymous 'fan': if you keep asking for an update every week, I'll be forced to remove the story, please stop.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Okay, yes, so a lot of projects on the go already, but **Sethoz** tempted me into going for this one ASAP… so I am. Don't know how it will go, and I'll try to update every few days to keep the pacing as best I can. If it works, it works; if it doesn't, it doesn't… c'est la vie, 'eh?

**Iblis:** Well, here you go, now you can have it.

**Leigh S. Durron:** Thanks, Leigh. How many times did you read that trailer? **Teaser:** Aha, attention is good.

**Nimmo Gray:** Thanks. Glad you liked the trailer. **Teaser:** Ack, not good. Oh well, it will still be here when you get back.

**BloodMoonLycan:** Glad you liked it, and have high hopes. I appreciate that.

**drowchild: **Heh, your reviews always make me laugh. And today isn't Saturday, dear Drowchild, it's Monday _::nods::_ Sorry you had to wait, but I thought it best. Glad you liked the trailer anyway. Ack, me making movies? Well, the cute guys of Hollywood would never be out of work _::grins like a moron::_

**funyun:** Fun? Not sure Tom would agree with you, but glad you find it promising. And yes, it sounds a lot like _Black Pawn, White Pawn_. Same premise, different twists. I wasn't sure what to have M say to Tom at first in regards to "Go to hell…" so I just went with whatever seemed natural. Of course, the trailer – like they are with the movies – are subject to slight alteration. Gratuitous Sawyer Abuse, 'eh? Why do I feel like I need to make that – along with Angst-Addict – into a badge to wear? Heh… might get a few odd looks in the street. Figured I had to have Dante feature… couldn't resist. My boss at work reminds me a tad of Shane West, irritably, cuz he's kind of a moron… -- **Teaser:** I don't hate you… I love you, it's just fun to tease. Knuckle dusters are basically, like you said, brass knuckles, worn on the hand to increase the power behind a blow . Ouch… It'll be the same Skinner burning as in the film basically, just a little different cuz of circumstances. Heh. But if you really want a warning, I'll give you one.

**Sethoz:** Notice July 5th is just _after_ Independence Day… maybe I did that on purpose… maybe not. _::shrugs::_ Ack, watch the wall, and yes, I'm hurrying! **Teaser:** It… I… thank you! And yes, thinking of stories usually helps me at work too.

**queerquail: **It's here now, so don't panic! And Tom seems like the kind to always get in trouble, so… **Teaser:** I am very evil, yes. You should know this by now. Mwahahaha!

**freedomfighter82:** Yes, shouting is bad for your voice. Don't worry, I'll warn as to the level of angst, shall I? Just for you. This one's only tame. Ice? _::offers you ice:: _**Teaser:** Heh, it was about 6:50am for me when you were reading that. So yeah, I was asleep. Heh. And here it is! Have no fear!

**Lyn:** Thanks. Here it is.

**TARilus:** I'm glad it's making more sense. And yes, this is rather similar to BPWP by Sethoz… remember I had her blessings and urging though… _::pokes Sethoz::_ Hope you like it. **Teaser: **Teasers are fun… they tease, Bwahaha. And yes… get to use all the dead people… mwahahaha!

**Ellina: **I must torture Tom because… it's too easy? People seem to flock to it? I don't know really… thanks.

Without further ado, and thanking you all for your tremendous patience when I tormented you so much… here is **Envenom: Part One…**

* * *

                Tom Sawyer unhooked his foot from the base of the seat where it had decided to wind itself, and gave a yelp as he tumbled headfirst out of the chair. He put his arms down to stop from giving himself a head injury, and fell with a thud to the rubble-strewn ground underneath the well and truly battered vehicle.

                "_That_ hurt…" Tom grumbled, and started picking his way to where wan light penetrated the edges of the topless car. He used his hands to pull himself free from the chest up, wincing as he did so. He was more than a little sore, but he definitely remembered firing the flare… hopefully Nemo had seen it.

                _The flare… the rocket!_ His mind suddenly snapped into focus, and he turned his head to the gaping hole he had smashed through the front of the abandoned theatre, chunks of the building still toppling loose of their previous fixtures. He could see the ever-approaching collapse, and it was coming fast, creeping up on the canal that he had decided to launch the automobile over.

                _Not good_, Tom's mind rambled, and he scrambled to pull his legs free of the trappings of the car, biting off a curse as he did so, feeling his feet come free just as he heard the roar of the rocket overhead. For a terrifying moment, he almost froze, and then his subconscious screamed for him to run as fast as his legs would carry him.

                He was about to start, when he remembered his rifle, actually cursing this time, and reaching an arm under the overturned car, finding it down by the seat at an angle and wrenching it loose.

                Winchester rifle in hand, he bolted for the only opening he could find that would provide some sort of escape, which just happened to be in the form of a dusty old window, the glass smashed. There were still jagged edges, but he pushed the fact from his mind as he bodily threw himself out of the hole, just as the roar of the rocket reached a deafening crescendo and slammed into the roof of the dilapidated building.

                Tom let out a shout – whether due to fright or adrenaline he didn't know and probably never would – as he tumbled to the ground, rolling as he had trained himself, and covered his head with his arms, even as the rocket blew the theatre apart with an awful booming, resonating explosion that made Tom's ears ache.

                The heat rushed over him as flames reached out hungrily like arms grasping for purchase, and Tom closed his eyes tight and gritted his teeth as the force of the explosion caused his blonde hair to whip about his head, and his coat to billow.

                Only when the heat and breeze had died down entirely did Tom remove his head shakily from under his arms, hands trembling… he was still alive. He could have laughed if his heart wasn't threatening to break from the confines of his chest. His eyes wandered back to the building he had just escaped from, wide as saucers, and he took panting breaths in shock that he had just lived through what had happened. The building was now nothing more than a blackened broken shell of what it had been, rubble still tumbling to the ground in all directions as the fires died out.

                _So much for the car_, he thought, letting the beginnings of a smile touch the corner of his mouth, and he laughed in shock more than anything, just before he felt the stinging on his temple.

                More than a little shaken, but beyond relieved, the young Special Agent rose from the ground, a little unsteadily at first, touching a hand to his temple, bringing his fingers away very slightly tipped with blood. He winced, and sighed, wiping his hand on his already filthy coat and glancing around, hearing the far off cheers and cries of the survivors from the carnival.

                They would never know what had happened… Tom wasn't sure how to feel about that. He was accustomed to being ignored, with the nature of his occupation. It required a low profile, but sometimes a little appreciation went a long way. He supposed he might get that in the form of the other _League_ members… if they were alive. He sincerely found himself hoping they were. He had lost sight of all of them in the end. Nemo and Jekyll had been left back at the ship; Dorian Gray had leapt from the car in motion to fight the snipers; Mina had taken flight to deal with the men in the gauntlet from above; and Quatermain had… abandoned him. He supposed Quatermain had seen something, but without asking the hunter, there was little he could do to answer that internal question.

                _Better be getting back, or they'll think I'm dead_, he thought to himself, not in the least consoled by the musing, and turned on his heel to try and find his way back to the canal, and to the Nautilus.

                But even as he turned, he cursed his distraction, when a fist struck him out of nowhere, catching him on the jaw and downing him instantly with the sheer vehemence and force behind the blow. He gasped and winced, colours dancing behind his tightly closed eyes, his grip lost on the Winchester, even as he felt and heard someone come up beside him, chuckling to themselves.

                "Americans," someone sighed almost lazily, and slammed the flat of a heavy boot down into the small of Tom's back, ploughing him to the stone ground with enough force to wind the agent. "All the same. Hardly worth the effort."

                _ I know that voice…_ Before Tom could process the thought any further, the toe of a boot rolled him over, and then something crouched down beside him, and grabbed in the roots of his hair with tight fingers, lifting his head up a little way… and then ramming it back.

                Tom was immediately robbed of all awareness, and sunk into the internal void of unconsciousness.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	2. Deliverance

**Author's Note:**Okay, so yes… this took longer than I thought, considering I had WAY more than this written out… but my hard drive died, and I lost it all. All gone… bye bye. Rewrite in progress, so excuse me if it takes longer than I had planned, but I'm offline for most of this week whilst I get a new hard drive… grrr.

**TARilus****: **Nope, it's not good. It's gonna get a whole lot worse too.

**Angharad****:** Sorry for the wait. Glad you liked it.

**Lyn:** Thanks. Here it is.

**Leigh S. Durron:** Nope, not good. Bad. Very bad. Hehehe… aww, maybe I should've left that out of the trailer and kept that a surprise. Bugger… never mind.

**funyun****:** Glad you liked it. Hehe, yes,sadly with fics, you have to wait, I know. Knuckle dusters aren't fun, I'm sure _::winces::_ I'll give you a warning, don't worry. And congratulations on recognizing that part from Shadow Games…only one other person did. You're about to find out who the voice belonged to. Heh. And oh… hasn't he?

**Sethoz****:** Yup, I left it like that… I so wish my pc hadn't commited implo-side. Yes, that's real… I made it up. And yes, I am nasty… I will be very angsty when I get back properly, you know it. It was the same as SG, yes. Well done for realizing. Heh.

**Sweetdeath04:** Computers suck… thanks!

**BloodMoonLycan****:** You knew I'd be mean… you knew it. Don't tell me you didn't see it coming. I'm CLEZ! Hehe. I'm always mean to poor Tommy-boy, aren't I? In one way or another, I am. Thanks for the spiffy review.

**Drakena**** the Destroyer:** I'm glad I've piqued your interest. And this storyboard…sounds so awesome! Can't wait to see it! And I saw your new deviantART pictures, reviewed them, and loved them.

**drowchild****: **Glad you liked it. And yes… major suckage. And it's not reversible, and it's not fixable. The 15-odd pages of this I had written were lost _::__cries::_ Ugh… shit happens. I miss you guys too!

**freedomfighter82:** I'm updating! Glad you liked it. _::watches you cheerlead::_

**LotRseer3350:** I know it was short… shorter than I would have liked, but sorry! Needed to be short, sharp and… painful… kinda. Bad Dorian. 'eh? Oh _really_…?

And now, with apologies for the delay, here is Part Two of **Envenom…**

:::

            Dante looked down at the lifeless form of the boy, and sighed, almost in disappointment. Still, James would be pleased with the reward as it was, though the lieutenant was considering taking the dropped rifle as an extra trophy. But then, when he looked down at the boy, he remembered he wouldn't be an easy burden on his own, and reconsidered such an action. The boy was enough… James would be happy enough with him as it were. Or, at least Dante _hoped_ he would be. Why wouldn't he?

            Shrugging his shoulders roughly, feigning nonchalance, even without the lack of audience, Dante crouched down, looking at the closed eyes of the American. He let his dark gaze wander to the destroyed building, and then back at the young man. This child had ruined the beginnings… but not everything. They would still have a chance to fulfil James' plans, and then Dante remembered the need for urgency. He would need to be quick to catch his superior at the canal, where they had arranged to rendezvous. Grunting only slightly in disgust at the form lying before him, he reached down and scooped him up, hefting him, and throwing him over one shoulder, dispersing the weight evenly across his back, and keeping a firm hold on him. It wouldn't do to drop him… not that Dante particularly cared about the American's health.

            Glancing only once more at the scene behind him, Dante headed off at a steady pace, and made his way towards the canal where he had confirmed his meeting with James and the traitor.

            It didn't take him long to figure out a way to cover up why he had the boy thrown over his shoulders. He appeared as though he had been injured in the collapse, and Dante used this as an excuse for his presence. Though no one asked anyway, it prevented him from having to hide in the shadows like some sort of coward.

            Shouldering his burden once again, Dante pressed on.

:::

            Cursing his inability to have seen the attack coming sooner, he moved into the light from under the archway, looking up at the great looming bulk that was the mighty Nautilus. Her crew were scattered everywhere, and her captain was overseeing operations. Doctor Henry Jekyll was seeing to the wounded, and even as Allan Quatermain strode towards them, he could tell that neither was harmed. He only hoped the rest of his companions had fared the same.

            As he moved closer, he called out, "The Fantom is M!" Growling quietly under his breath, and touching his hand firmly to the wound in his left shoulder, he added, "And the hunt is still on."

            Jekyll was the first to react, standing, rolling down his white and black sleeves as he did so, asking, "What are you talking about?" The curiosity and concern was clear on his face, even as he took a step towards the hunter.

            "The Fantom is M!" Allan repeated, not in the mood to do so, and explained further, "The very man who recruited us."

            Nemo knitted his brows as he moved towards Allan, even as the hunter shooed Jekyll away from tending to his wounded shoulder. "But… why?"

            "We'll get our answers," Allan grumbled irritably, and looked around, his dark eyes scanning the scene for the rest of the _League_. "Where are the others?"

            "Dorian's missing in action," came a smooth, feminine voice, even as the form of Mrs. Wilhelmina Harker melted out of the shadows. Her skirts and jacket flowed out behind her smoothly, like the wings of the bats Allan had seen flock to her out in the streets of Venice not too long ago. She moved with a flawless grace, her heels sounding firmly on the cobble street at the side of the canal that nested the Nautilus. "And Mr. Skinner must have fled when he realised we knew."

            Allan looked around, his heart skipping a beat with negativity, even as he tried to locate that spark of hope. "And Sawyer?" He looked to Nemo, the man who had launched the rocket that was to target the car where Sawyer had last been seen.

            There was nothing… silence. No one spoke.

            Allan sighed heavily, a pang of guilt tearing at him as he looked to the others. They all showed their sympathy and sense of loss, but he knew none of them had gotten as close – as selfish as it sounded – as he had. He had genuinely liked Sawyer, the young man who had reminded him so painfully of his own late son, Harry. They had each died before their times, it seemed… and he felt responsible for both.

            "He died saving the city," Nemo said at last, as if trying to lighten the mood and put a greater feeling of achievement on it, though Allan was far from comforted. "He may have helped avert a world war."

            Mina too looked uncomforted by this fact, but it wasn't long before she lifted her head, chin up, and nodded. "Captain Nemo is right," she agreed confidently, though there was an undertone of sadness to her voice that was shown in Jekyll's eyes.

            "No, he might still be alive," Allan voiced suddenly, shaking his head. "I refuse to accept it until I see some evidence, and if you don't feel the same, then we could be condemning him to death… he might be injured."

            The others exchanged glances, and what was left of the _League_ seemed in unanimous agreement that this be what they do.

            Even when – as foolish as it was – Allan thought things couldn't get any worse; someone stumbled onto the ramp, and called out agonisingly, "Cap'n!"

:::

            M growled in fury and irritation, grasping blindly at the blade stuck in his right shoulder blade… his _own_ weapon! The indecency of it was almost as bad as the wound itself, and he cursed loudly when he realised he couldn't reach it for the life of him. Recently, he had been known as The Fantom, but he had decided to just stick to the simple M that he had used as a rouse when deceiving those blithering idiots of the _League_... the same idiots who had almost ruined everything. He wasn't worried about them figuring out the clue to his name… but surely it wasn't _that_ hard. He narrowed his eyes, glancing down the canal, and then started slightly when there was a dull thud from behind him.

            He whirled at once, cane at the ready should he need to strike out in defence, and froze when he saw it was only Dante. From the look in the man's eyes, something had gone in their favour, and that was when M allowed his gaze to travel downwards, to the lieutenant's feet.

            A smile crept onto his face, before a light laugh began, and it slowly grew into a highly amused sound, his grin spreading, as he threw back his head a little at the sight presented to him. "Well done, Dante," M congratulated, nodding his head. "Good work." He knew those words would perhaps mean more to the man than any other reward. He was after acknowledgement, and with a trophy like _this_, he was certainly going to get it.

            He went down into a low crouch, eyeing the boy, who started to stir just slightly, the movement of his head to one side a testament of such. He groaned quietly, and M cocked his head to one side, saying, "If I were you, boy, I'd stay the way you are… when you wake up; I'll have all sorts of 'fun' planned for you."

            The boy ceased in his movements, falling still again, except for the slow and rhythmic rising and falling of his chest to show his breathing. M grinned, and stood once more, saying, "Bind his hands. I don't trust him, even if he _is_ unconscious."

            Dante looked around a little, as if bemused, and then back at his leader, raising a single brow. M rolled his eyes, sighed heavily, and grumbled, "Do I have to think of everything?" He snatched his hands down to the belt he didn't even really need, save to further his costumed façade, and unfastened it, pulling it free, and offering it to his lieutenant. Dante reached out for it, and took it in his hands, even as the dark, somewhat crazed eyes glanced up the canal.

            "Look," he said simply, and M followed his gaze, seeing the approaching _thing_. There was really no other way to describe it, with one side of it being vertical, with great spinning spiked blades for propulsion, and the other bulging outwards to give it buoyancy. In the front were bulbs for illumination, and a portal to see into the pod's interior. M turned back to Dante, as the pod pulled up alongside them. The whirring of the spikes ceased, and it bobbed slightly in the waters near to them, before a panel in the top opened, the hatch swinging aside, moved by a perfect hand, the gem in a ring on the middle finger glinting slightly, just before a handsome, flawless head poked out, the dark eyes looking down at them. M met the gaze of his turncoat, and smiled slyly.

            "I see we have an extra guest," Dorian Gray drawled, almost bored, and then disappeared inside the hatch again, leaving it open, perhaps as an invitation. M was first to move towards the pod, before he hesitated, wincing, and motioning for Dante to remove the blasted blade in his back. The lieutenant obliged, without hesitation, knowing the punishments for such, and tore out the stiletto, handing it to M, who regarded the bloodied end for a moment, before grunting.

            "Bring him. Hurry, they will be after us within minutes," he told Dante, who sneered down the canal at the only just visible Nautilus, before crouching to pick up the boy again. M hopped inside the pod, landing solidly on the grating below, before moving aside from the hatch. It was deceivingly small to exterior examination, but when inside, there was enough space for the small party. M looked to their driver, seeing the immortal strapping himself back in to the controls at the helm, and glanced back up towards the hatch, even as he seated himself towards the rear of the pod.

            With a heavy but muffled thud, the body of the boy fell through the hatch, slamming to the grating below. If he hadn't been unconscious before, he certainly was now, M realised, with a half hearted smile of amusement. Dante swung in from the hole, standing almost predatorily over what he must consider his prey, the belt in his hands, dark eyes boring down into the boy. He smiled somewhat cunningly, and then crouched.

            "Get us on course to Mongolia," M told Gray, who nodded. Dante reached up quickly, and closed the hatch, sealing it afterwards, before going back to his task. He pulled the boy's arms behind his back roughly, and the American made a slight noise of discomfort, showing his drifting awareness.

            M stared down at the body, and then pulled in a breath, realising why he found him familiar. He had seen him before, and not only in the library of Dorian Gray, when he had first foiled M's attempts at thwarting his own team. This child had burst in, guns blazing, and ruined everything. But still… he was losing track of his thoughts. This was the haphazard partner to the agent M had killed before. He recalled vividly how this one had been pinned down by 'enemy fire', unable to run to his friend's aid after M had shot the other agent. M smiled, chuckling quietly to himself. Oh yes, this was going to be much more satisfactory than he had first thought.

            Dante fastened the crude restraint with one solid tug on the leather, drawing a muffled, quiet cry from the captive, and then stood, moving over to prop himself beside M, eyes never leaving the slightly stirring form in the centre of the pod's floor. The blonde head tilted slightly to one side, and even as they watched, green eyes opened slowly, gazing around.

            Dorian Gray glanced lazily over his shoulder for a moment.

            The boy opened his mouth to speak, but not before M lifted a boot, and hovered it over his face. "I don't want to hear a word out of you, or I'll bring down my boot... whether it's your nose or your jaw that I break, it doesn't really matter to me. Understood?"

            The boy closed his mouth again, though it was reluctantly that he did so, showing his stereotypical stubbornness becoming an American. M smiled. "Good boy."

            "Hello, Tom," Dorian said dryly from his seat, glancing over his shoulder once again to take in the form of the restrained agent. "How 'lovely' to see you alive and well." He chuckled to himself, and looked over to M and Dante where they were rested, and then to the boy, who was staring up at the immortal in something not too unlike disbelief. "Then again, _Sawyer_, I don't suppose that will last long, will it?" He laughed, and reached out a hand, ruffling Tom Sawyer's hair in a mocking fashion, throwing him a feigned sympathetic smile. Dante was grinning broadly.

            "_Dorian?_" Sawyer managed. "Why…?"

            There was a loud clang, and the boy started violently as the freed stiletto blade slammed down into the grating beside his head, missing by scant inches, and wobbling slightly. He scooted away from it, and looked to M wildly.

            "I warned you, _boy_… I don't want to hear you speak. Don't make me gag you." M narrowed his eyes at Sawyer, leaning forward slightly in his chair, before resting back again, watching the American move slightly towards the wall behind him. Slowly, he leaned back against it, his knees drawn up, clearly still groggy, but watching M and Dante carefully.

            M grinned, and let his mind run into overdrive, concocting and forming plans.

**_To Be Continued…_**

******__**


	3. Paroxysm

****

Author's Note: Hooray! At last, my PC is back, and fixed, and though I am using a crappy writing program, I. Am. Back. Right... where were we?

Angharad: I'm glad you liked the last part. Heh, it's like you've got some sort of foresight. Shocking. Mina _might _be able to smell Tom... vampires have heightened senses, but you'll have to wait and see. _::smiles::_ I'm so glad M is in character. You never really saw much of him normally in the film, so that's a comfort. I did indeed read the books, and loved them. Dante is going to be 'fun'. Here's the next part for you.

Sweetdeath04: Yes, 'poor Tom' is a phrase you will probably be saying quite a LOT in this story, I can imagine. I'm glad you like it so far.

Leigh S. Durron: Hope this wasn't too long... though you're away right now, and can't read this 'til you come back... bummer. Ah, you must have missed something in the trailer, heh. You'll see what I mean. _::winks::_

funyun: Yup, updates are usually good. _::hears teeth grinding::_ Is that you or Tom? Heh. Dante is supposed to be annoying, so yay. Heh, one voice... I like that you spotted that. The Dorian ruffling Tom's hair was just too tempting to NOT do... had to be done.

freedomfighter82: Darn M indeed. You'll see what the fun is. Here's your update... _::has pom poms waving in her face::_ Ooh er. _::offers you lozenge::_

ellina: I am evil... you just noticed? _::grins::_ Angst is strangely fun, isn't it? Thanks.

LotRseer3350: The fun does indeed begin soon. I'm the one writing up the chapter, and I can't remember when... sigh. Back up would be a good idea now, methinks.

Funky In Fishnet: Glad you like it, and thanks.

Nimmo Gray: Glad you like it. Thanks for the review.

Sethoz: Yay, glad you liked. Thank you for the lovely compliment, buddy. Means a lot to me. Here's the more you were waiting for. Hope it satisfies.

TARilus: Crap indeed. It's looking grim, isn't it? Thanks for the review.

kingleby: _::watches you kick Dorian and M::_ Heh... yes, poor Tom. Glad you loved the chapter. Tom angst is annoyingly fun, and it doesn't exactly sound cruel... it's just another thing that makes us LXG fans oh so unique. Heh. Allan has to be determined right? After all, it _is_ his protégé.

laura mulwray: Thank you very much.

And now, without further ado, and my heartfelt apologies, here is Part Three of **Envenom...**

****

:::

She landed in a flurry of black feral wings, and bid the creatures leave her presence at once, their job completed for the time being. They would be there in an instant if she required their assistance once more, but she was in no mood for their lingering. Her emotions were nibbling at the edges of her awareness, and she heard the approach of the three men at once, not long after her own arrival. Mina Harker cast her blue gaze over her shoulder, and saw them jogging up to her.

Allan Quatermain was first, followed closely by Captain Nemo, and Dr. Jekyll brought up the rear, eyeing the crash site with awe and mild horror. Surely with all he had seen and caused in his lifetime, he could not be surprised. Mina looked back to the carnage and sighed. There was rubble and debris everywhere, and the building had been completely gutted. From the old maps of Venice, she had been able to determine this had been a dilapidated, disused theatre. The shell of the destroyed automobile lay upside down at the other end of the ruin, and she looked to what remained of the _League_.

They had just watched Dorian Gray - who, it appeared, was the _actual_ traitor, not Rodney Skinner - flee the scene of his murderous crime with one of Nemo's inventions. That had not sat well with the captain, who had already endured the death of a good friend in Ishmael... Dorian had shot him... killed him. Mina felt her guilt toying with her internally at having accused Skinner so blindly... though she could not be entirely certain that the two were not in this together. She hoped not... but what had become of the invisible thief?

"We should look around... see if we can find any evidence," Quatermain said heavily, darkly, and set off to do just that. Jekyll and Nemo were not far behind, and Mina chose to begin with where she had last seen Tom Sawyer. Her boots picked carefully through the rubble, until she came up beside the overturned and destroyed car, and she started to brush her way through the still-cooling rocks and debris for any signs of the young man.

She started to lose hope quite quickly with each upturned piece of rubble that showed no signs of the young agent, and she wondered what had happened for him to be alone in the first place. When she had left, Quatermain had been in the car as well... why had he left? But then, he had said something about the Fantom, so...

Sighing, she stood, realising she was not about to find anything worthwhile. There was nothing near the car. She turned to her companions, seeing the looks of quiet defeat on their faces also, before she took in the sight of Jekyll, who was crouched, intrigued, just on the outskirts of the building's perimeter. Furrowing her brow, she crossed the expanse to him, and asked, "What is it?"

"I've found something," the doctor revealed, and it was his tone of voice that made her heart clench horribly. It was not an optimistic one... pessimism rang clearly in his words. Quatermain and Nemo were not long in following the vampire to the doctor's side, even as he stood. Mina followed his dark gaze to the rubble-strewn ground, and then crouched gracefully, her skirts billowing around her legs slightly. She lifted the object Jekyll had found in her gloved hands, and rose with it slowly, even as the hunter came up beside her.

He looked to her hands, and what they carried, and sighed heavily, even as Mina said softly, "You know what this means..."

Quatermain's face had fallen, and he reached out his hand to touch it to the barrel of the Winchester rifle that Mina cradled. "I know..." he muttered sadly, and her heart went out to him, even as she frowned.

"I _am_ sorry, Mr. Quatermain," she said to him, her voice filled with sincerity and compassion, as she handed him the rifle. He took it in his hands, and held it almost regretfully. He held himself responsible, she knew... she could sense it. Nemo and Jekyll showed their sympathies as well, before the regal Indian nodded once with a sorrowful sigh.

"His sacrifice will not go unappreciated," he declared calmly, but with a hint of his emotions tugging at his voice. "He has saved an entire city, and he died for a valiant cause... a hero." Sighing quietly, he added, "But we must be leaving this place. We cannot linger any longer, with M and Gray escaping. We must return to my Nautilus at once, and give chase if we are to have any hopes of catching them."

Quatermain nodded slowly, eyes barely leaving the rifle as he said, "Thank you for the delay, Captain."

Nemo half-bowed his head respectfully, and then turned, heading briskly back towards the canal where they had left the submersible. Quatermain glanced once to Mina, and then walked off to accompany the captain. Jekyll cast a look over his shoulder sadly, and moved up beside Mina, saying, "It's a shame." He frowned deeper, if such a thing was possible. "He was a good man."

With that, the doctor moved off as well, leaving Mina to stare into the wreckage, believed to be the final resting place of Tom Sawyer.

"Yes," she whispered sorrowfully, "... yes, he was."

:::

Peering out from within his hiding place, he swallowed dryly, quietly, and then pulled himself back inside the tiny cabinet-cum-compartment inside the escape pod. The small party in the larger half had not realised his presence, and for that, he was grateful. Some small blessing, at least, he knew. He ran his hands over his bald head, and tried to think, wishing there was something he could do to help his 'friend'... could he call Agent Sawyer a friend? This was one of the people who had so blindly blamed him for the treachery and theft...

_Well, Rodney, you **are** a thief... hate to break it to you._ Brains were pesky things sometimes, nattering away at you. He shook his head, remembering there were more important matters to worry about. He had tracked Gray for quite a while, concerned and suspicious about his behaviour from the get go, pretty much, discovering his hidden agendas. He had watched, he had taken mental notes... and done nothing to warn the _League._

Maybe, if he had, Sawyer wouldn't be sitting in the next room, tied up and helpless against the wall. Rodney Skinner couldn't help but blame himself for that, and he wished there was something he could do. Glancing out through the slight crack in the door once again, he looked to the young man, who - Skinner could tell from years of observing others closely - was obviously trying to hide what he was feeling. But the thief could see the fear and worry in the green eyes, and that weighed Skinner down badly.

Casting his eyes around the room, and thanking his invisibility for making his being a stowaway so much easier, he caught sight of what he had been praying for, suppressing the squeak of triumph. Clearing his throat almost inaudibly, he shuffled to the device he recognised from years in his trade. It was quite an advanced piece of technology, one that some said they were using at least a decade before its time... they - apparently - weren't ready for such an advancement, but obviously they were. It would be useful to Skinner now, he knew, and he wracked his busy brain for what he needed in order to work the odd machine.

He tuned the device to the frequency of the Nautilus, which he had been able to discover and miraculously remember from thumbing through Nemo's logs, some of which had been quite... interesting, to say the least. He had learned perhaps more than he should have or would ever need to from those filled books, and after the third or fourth heavy volume, he had forced himself to admit he had learned enough. It all came back to him in a rush, how to use the machine, and he tapped the device carefully with a finger for the predetermined lengths of time, sorting his mind enough to ready an organised, tangible message to transmit. The Morse transmitter responded delicately to his touch, and he worked quickly, but not hastily.

Skinner quickly halted his movements, cutting his message short, when he thought he heard something in the other compartment, like someone approaching, and voices. He practically threw himself away from the needle, and flattened himself silently and stealthily against the wall farthest from it, even as the door opened all the way, revealing the rather gruff man named Dante in all his horrid splendour. He poked his head inside, looked left and right, and then turned his head back to the insufferable M.

"Nothing here, James," Dante reported roughly, his voice harsh.

_Why does he keep calling that git James?_

Skinner's hopes of continuing his message were dashed when Dante moved away from the room, leaving the door open. Cursing quietly under his breath, he settled for sinking himself to the floor with a good vantage point of Sawyer, watching him keenly and with concern. What did M plan to do?

_You know very well what he wants to do... and there's very little you can do about it._

Short of rampaging - if you could call it that - out into the pod and trying to tackle Dante and M himself, there was - as his brain reminded him - very little he could do to save Sawyer himself. Even if by some miracle, he _did_ manage to incapacitate the man and his lieutenant, there was still the blasted immortal, Gray, to worry about. Skinner would never be able to handle him, and that bloody cane-sword of his.

So, for now, Skinner would have to make do with simply watching his fellow _League_ member, and hoping the others got his message.

:::

Tensions were high as they listened to the recording, the expressions on everyone's faces clearly illustrating their rage and disbelief as to the horrid schemes and secrets that were given away as the 'professor' chattered on smugly through the gramophone's speaker. Henry Jekyll wanted nothing more at that point than to smash the device. He didn't want to listen anymore... in fact, found it very difficult to do so with the accursed _whining_ in his ears.

He was too busy watching the strange reflection of the apparently pained Edward Hyde in the portal mirror near to him. He cocked his head this way and that as the recording continued, walking closer to the mirror, and trying to fathom what it was that had his later ego so distressed.

That was when he actually diverted some of his attention to what was being said on the recording, and he turned his head slowly as he heard the words, "... Sensors attached to _bombs_."

_Oh god..._

The drawled voice of Dorian Gray was almost smug as he added dryly, "_Bomb_ voyage."

All eyes met in the centre of the room, even as Nemo threw the gramophone from the small table where it sat... too late. It was only a matter of moments before the first bomb exploded... and then the next, and the last, all in one vicious cycle, reverberating and tearing through the Nautilus, causing the vessel to pitch horribly to one side.

The _League_ were helpless to do anything other than go with the tilting, and they were thrown to one side of the state room, the table sliding violently after them. Henry narrowly avoided being crushed by the heavy piece of ornate furniture, and saw Nemo run swiftly from the room, despite the listing. Mrs. Harker and Mr. Quatermain followed, and Henry thrust himself out after them, concerned about being left behind in the time of uncertainty and terror. He could feel the pressure altering drastically as they obviously plummeted down through the depths, and it played havoc with his ears as they tried to equalise and compensate. He shook his head, wincing, even as they toppled into the bridge, the room badly tilting upwards at a frightening angle as the Nautilus sank.

Henry was vaguely aware of Nemo tossing a crewman aside from the helm, yelling, "Out of the way!" As the cast-aside sailor teetered, Henry looked to the distressed Indian captain, knowing he had to be panicking at least marginally right now. This was his greatest achievement, and there were somewhere in the region of a hundred souls - if not more - on this vessel. He was trying his best to save them.

"We have to surface!" Quatermain yelled from near the mapping table, gripping it tightly. Henry was not far away, nor was Mrs. Harker, both of whom were holding on as best they could to devices that were fixed down firmly to the wooden floor.

"We are taking on too much water!" Nemo responded loudly. "The controls are not responding!"

Henry's ears were popping madly, and he covered them for a moment, clapping his hands over them to try and make it stop. With Hyde roaring and raging inside, it was all getting too much to take suddenly. The front panel of the Nautilus' bridge was cracking horribly, water spraying in in fierce little streams, soaking the occupants within, even as another crewman ran in to report something about the primary engine room. Nemo ordered the man to seal it closed, therefore trapping the rising water, and all the men along with it, inside the room.

Henry's medical instincts wanted him to scream out in protest, but the realist inside of him knew that Nemo was only doing his best to try and preserve as many lives as he could. Sacrifice a few to save many... he was trying. It had to be hard on him, especially after losing Ishmael, but Henry understood.

Unable to balance himself, he toppled backwards, colliding forcefully with the rear wall, cursing himself for having not held on tighter, and shook his head to try and get rid of the water in his now-limp chestnut hair. He turned his head to the right, where there was a reflective surface, seeing Hyde mirror his actions, turning to him, saying eagerly, _"We can do it, Henry."_

Furrowing his brow, and yelling over the noise, Henry voiced his confusion, "What are you talking about?"

If any of the others had heard him - something he doubted given their current dilemma - they weren't reacting, even as Edward responded, _"You **know** we can do it... **together**."_

Casting his uncertain gaze back to the remainder of the _League_, Henry tried to decide, avoiding looking at the makeshift mirror until he had made up his mind.

It didn't take him long.

With a sigh of determination, squaring his shoulders, Henry ran from the room before any of the others had even realised he was gone, his mind made up, his actions planned already, with Edward roaring in eager, almost childish anticipation of what was to come.

****

To Be Continued...


	4. In Retrospect

**Author's Note:** Computers can be evil things… I get the PC back online, and a bloody storm kills my modem! _::sneers::_ Dammit. Oh well, I'm back again, and that's the important thing, right, cuz that means you can have this update…

**Funky In Fishnet:** Thank you for the compliment. So very glad it can suck you in. Very comforting as a writer to hear that. Divine…? Wow… _thank_ you.

**Nimmo Gray:** I'm glad you like the adaptations. Couldn't go long without bringing everyone's favourite thief in, could I? Heh.

**Iblis:** Thank you for the review. Very nice of you to support me. Here's the new part.

**funyun****:** I love getting your big reviews. Compliments, support and advice. Can't be bad. Glad you think the rifle was sufficient enough to make them stop their search. No, not much of a cliff hanger ending, but I figured it was the best place to leave it, considering where this one picks up. Chapter break – to me – made sense. I figured Skinner wouldn't know what to do with himself with all the suspicion he'd no doubt felt/heard/saw. Eek, I am so sorry about the eye colour thing _::__facepalms::_ Gah, I do that sometimes, go nuts with doing one thing over and over, and don't realise how annoying it's getting. I usually do the expression and stuff with the eyes too, but I have a thing about eye colour. Sorry, I'll cut back. Guess I kept forgetting that I'd already used it so soon before I done it again. Heh… whoops. I didn't think that was a flame at all, rather a VERY good point that I've taken into consideration. Tension is a favourite thing…gotta love it. Or at least I have. _::hugs Tom, and looks guilty::_

**kingleby****:** Henry really is a hero, deep down inside. Bless him. Thanks for the review.

**BloodMoonLycan:** Hehe, thanks for the review, buddy. Glad you liked it. Hope you like this one too.

**Sethoz:** You're not doing your quotes anymore… took me too long to notice that _::__faceplants::_ Ugh, dense Clez. I seem to hold off quite a lot now, don't I? Weird, that. It's never fair in the world of fiction, Sethoz, and as a fellow author, this should be known to you, heh. Thanks for welcoming me back, and I hope you enjoy this part… when you get back.

**Drakena the Destroyer:** Glad you liked Skinner's feature. Heh, that sound would have driven me crazy, so I figured it had to play major havoc with Jekyll. And, ack! Stupid, stupid movie poster! … Grr, they look brown. Sorry about that. But then again… Tom's do too on here. Sigh, why did I trust this thing? It looks cool, yes, but a few details are wrong _::__shrugs::_ Thanks for pointing that out. Heh, threats usually do help the inspiration, don't they?

**freedomfigher82: **Well, you shall see what happens, even though you should already know. Heh. Yay for Skinner indeed. _::gives you icepack::_ You should be careful with this cheerleading. Don't put Tommy in danger… you do know who I am right? _::laughs::_ Valiant effort anyway. Everyone rocks, save for the villains, mwahahaha!

**drowchild****:** Tom, gah, indeed. Not good. Very bad. Dante is an annoying, interrupting person; yes… he should be poked for his rudeness. Persistence, like patience, is probably a virtue. M is a major nasty himself, so I'd go with your instinct there.

**ellina****:** I am mean, yes. Get used to it _::__evil laughter::_ Heh. Poor everyone indeed. Here's the next chapter. Hope it wasn't too long a wait for you.

**Layla:** No need to beg, here's the update! Thanks for the review, and welcome to the story!

**Capt. Cow:** Yay, new story! Heh, yes, _Ghosts of Old_… I should get my butt moving on that. Ack, not the cherries!

**Sweetdeath04:** Thanks, glad you love it. Skinner, hooray!

**LotRseer3350: _::shrugs_**_::_ Was he? I'm not sure. Just felt I had to put that in pretty soon. Someone else will have to provide the boost, heh. Brains are annoying at time. Here's the update.

And without any further ado, and apologies for the delay, here is Part 4 of **Envenom…**

* * *

            To say that Mina Harker was grateful would have been a drastic understatement, and she knew the others in the room – not to mention the rest of the vessel – felt the same as she did. She would forever be thankful to the seemingly cowardly and mousy Doctor Henry Jekyll for his newfound bravery and quick thinking for what he had done to save the Nautilus, and everyone on it.

            They had made their way back to the rather distressed-looking state room to try and start the process of repairing things, perhaps see if they still had a chance of completing their mission. Mina had no doubt the large vessel was badly damaged… that had been obvious from the moment the bombs had gone off.

            Damn Dorian Gray… damn him and his painting, all the way to the deepest circle of hell. This was all his fault… and hers, for not realising he could not change as easily as he had claimed. Demons indeed… she had been a fool, and she wished desperately she could take it all back. She righted a chair with a sigh, thinking back on Agent Sawyer, and how he had lost his life to this confusing and twisted mission. Everything was so wrong… so confusing. It wasn't right… not at all. They had lost one of their own; a terrible enough tragedy on its own, but to make matters worse, Tom Sawyer had been their youngest member. He had given his life for his work, and she would forever remember his sacrifice.

            She glanced up the corridor when she heard someone approaching, and saw the somewhat confident form of Henry Jekyll striding their way. She smiled as much as she could manage in his direction, showing her appreciation with her eyes, and hoping he understood her gratitude for his actions. She brushed her gloved hands together slowly, and saw the way in which he carried himself, perhaps with a little more – understandably so – pride than before.

            Quatermain gave him a half hearted and weary thumbs up as he carried a chair back to its rightful place from where it had toppled, after he and Nemo had corrected the positioning of the long table, and Jekyll said, "Let's not make a saint out of a sinner. Next time he might not be so helpful."

            Mina did find herself wondering what had made Hyde change his mind, but she realised that every creature – no matter its nature – instinctively wanted to protect itself in times of danger. She supposed this was why Hyde had helped them… to help himself. It was better than nothing, she realised, and looked back to the doctor, who asked next, "Can we, er… still follow Gray, or…?"

            All eyes turned to the two crewmen who were replacing the ornate silver arms on the tracking device, which _had_ been informing them of the positioning of the Nautiloid, Nemo's exploration pod, which had contained the betraying immortal. She sighed, hanging her head a little, suddenly feeling a headache approaching, and her sorrow and guilt eating away at the edges of her being once again.

            "Well," Quatermain began as he and the doctor moved across the room, one after the other, "we _were_ the faster… but now we're the tortoise to his hare."

            The two crouched to pick up one of the heavy chairs, even as Jekyll grimly said, "So we're done." It was not a question, rather a very negative statement, one that did not sit well in Mina's gut.

            After a moment, in which the heavy silence ate away at her unbearably, wherein it seemed no one else was to object, she said bluntly, "No…"

            All eyes turned on her, almost curiously, wondering what it was she had to say in this time of sorrow and defeat.

            "We are _not_ done," she whispered darkly, eyeing the rest of her team, and holding their individual gazes meaningfully, hoping they would see her anger and hurt in her eyes at their apparent defeatist attitudes. "Tom Sawyer gave his life to further our mission, and to save lives… if we give up now, then his sacrifice will have been in vain." She had practically hissed her last few words, and after gazing harshly to her companions, once again, she found she could not bear it any longer. It was too much for her to take… all the betrayal, attack and loss. She had to leave.

            She turned, and swept majestically from the room without another word, not even in explanation of her seemingly flighty actions. Their negativity was not going to affect her; she was determined not to let it. She could not give up when Tom had offered them a chance at furthering their mission.

            As she walked, a crewman came jogging up beside her, saying, "Madam Harker, we have received a signal." He bowed hurriedly, and went on his way to report the same information to the rest of the _League_, though briefer. Mina battled internally with herself, as to whether or not she should ignore this apparent signal… and then realised it could hold details too important to be passed down a line, confused and interpreted incorrectly. Mina needed to hear whatever this signal held for herself.

            So, reluctantly, she trudged swiftly with the others to the communication room aboard the Nautilus, pushing into the doorway after Nemo and Quatermain, who needlessly pointed out, "It's Morse code."

            "What does it say?" she asked when her curiosity got the better of her, and she could not contain it any longer. The man in the chair, with one headphone pressed to his ear to better hear the message he was scribbling down turned to face them halfway.

            "'_Hello my freaky darlings_'," he offered.

            "Skinner?" Jekyll breathed in disbelief after a moment, eyeing Mina from to her left, leaning very slightly against the doorway, and furrowing his dark brow in confusion. Mina wasn't far from how he felt, perplexed and curious as to what the message held.

            "'_On little fish with Gray and M_'," the man continued, writing down the letters as they were tapped out to him through the needle. "'_Headed to base.__ Easy by North East. Follow my lead_'…"

            The way in which he had trailed off, and the needle ceasing its movement, confused and intrigued Mina anew, and not in a pleasant way. She cocked her head, eyeing the man, and asked, "What is it? What's wrong?" He looked bemused himself, and pulled the headphones away, laying them down as he lifted his small paper, and offered it to Nemo.

            "The message simply ended, Captain," he reported, shrugging lightly, and looking somewhat timidly to the others around him, obviously not used to all this company and interest.

            Nemo passed the paper to Quatermain, who read it over quickly, and passed it to Jekyll, with Mina glancing over his shoulder.

            "'_S-A-W_'…" Jekyll knitted his brow anew. "Saw what?"

            Mina eyed her fellows with confusion, and they all couldn't help – obviously – but wonder what it was that Skinner had apparently seen.

            Sighing, she realised she wasn't going to be figuring anything out with her approaching headache, and her growing sorrow. She needed to be alone, to catalogue and sort things in her mind.

            Mina needed time.

* * *

            He tried to fight when he felt the hand scruff in the back of his jacket and shirt collar, receiving a backhand across the face for his troubles, and wincing as it dazed him. Dante growled gruffly down his ear, and then heaved him upwards. He tried to struggle again, but the growl sounded once more, even as he was tugged right out of the top of the pod, and thrown roughly to the ground. He winced, bracing himself, immediately feeling the chill bite at him as snow was disturbed beneath his weight. It brushed against his bound hands, and when he breathed heavily, cool steam curled away from his mouth.

            Tom remembered the slight paranoia that had settled in on the pod as they had travelled, and wondered what it was that had spooked the three men. Something had set them off, and he cursed himself for being the only one who hadn't noticed something… whatever that something was.

            He looked up into the face of M, even as Dante tugged him to his knees, the snow soaking slowly but steadily into the fabric of his grey pants, and cooling his legs off unpleasantly. He shivered very slightly, subtly, seeing the way in which the other three men were wrapped up in cloaks and thick coats, obviously having anticipated the cold. They had left Tom unprotected intentionally, he knew, to spite him. He suppressed the second shudder, having learnt enough in his – so far – short career to know that exposing any weaknesses at all gave your enemy something to use against you… they nearly always abused it. He wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

            M looked down on him with icy blue eyes, and smiled slyly. Tom wanted nothing more than to have his hands free so he could smack that grin right off that face there and then, but even as he tried once again to fight the crude yet effective restraint, he knew it wasn't going to happen at least until they released the belt. He settled for the next best thing, and glared defiantly up at the cocky man.

            M crouched before him a little, his blue and grey cloak brushing in the snow and ice as he did so, saying, "The _League_ should have received my gift by now."

            Tom refused to show his curiosity, reveal that he was intrigued and worried by the statement. He didn't want to give M, Dante and Dorian Gray that satisfaction. The immortal stood just behind and to the side of him, and twirled his cane irritably, slamming the end down just scant inches from Tom's right knee, intentionally mocking him. He chuckled dryly, steam floating from his flawless face, and Tom glared up at him.

            M grabbed a hold of Tom's bottom jaw, twisting his face back to his, even as he added, "And what an _explosive_ gift it was." He laughed at Tom, cruelly, and the American growled quietly, before thrashing out viciously, jerking his head away, and trying to twist his legs out from under him to kick out, yelling foul names at the antagonising bastard, such curses that would have made poor old Aunt Polly pale considerably, no doubt.

            Dante grabbed a wicked hold of his hair and jacket, and tore him to his feet, and then clutched tightly under his jaw, forcing his head back, pulling him close enough to hiss down his ear, "You're lucky he wants you alive, boy… or I'd cut out your tongue right now, and let you _bleed_ to death."

            Tom gritted his teeth, panted heavily, and closed his eyes, hearing the crunching of snow as M and Dorian Gray strode away, their thick insulated boots crushing the ice underfoot. Dante pulled his hand away after a swift shake and a slight squeeze for emphasis, and then proceeded to practically drag Tom forward after the other two men.

            Tom moved along with him, all the while trying to loosen the tight restraint about his wrists, feeling his Colt pistols at his waist, still in their holsters. They had left them untouched during the entire journey on the pod, almost as if to additionally mock him for his helplessness, unable to reach his own weapons to defend himself. The thought only added to his anger, and he glared at the backs of M and Gray as they moved, wishing he could at least kick out at Dante as they walked, in defiance and retaliation.

            And that was when the fortress came into view, and Tom swallowed dryly at the sight of it, looming, ominous and foreboding.

* * *

             It was silently that she moved, having succeeded in getting away from the repairs and tending to wounded long enough to do what her heart and mind had screamed out for her to do since the revelation of the loss. It didn't seem right that nothing was to happen other than a simple continuation, and she was determined to go through with what she had quickly decided some time ago, before she had had to help with Jekyll's treating the wounded. But now she was free of her work, and able to do her 'duty'.

            It had to be done… and it had to be _her_.

            She wasn't sure why she felt this way, but she did. So it was that she stared up in admiration and quiet awe at the glowing features of Kali, represented in bronze and gold, in all her destructive, yet beautiful dark glory, limbs outstretched. Wan light had been provided by a few of the illuminating lamps around the room, but Mina Harker had neglected to light more than one or two. In her hands she held an untouched, tall white candle, the wick unmarred. She had found it in her possessions, and brought it with her to this room of prayer and contemplation. The perfect place…

            Sorrowfully, she knelt before the shrine of the goddess, and brushed her skirts aside around her legs, laying the pure white candle down at the foot of the statue, ensuring it was balanced. From her pocket she took a small box of matches, removing one from inside. She stared for a while at the statue again, her mind flurrying with images of the mission so far, how she had last seen the brave young agent, and she sighed, striking the match, seeing it burst into life at once.

            Laying down the box, she lifted the candle once again, lighting the wick, and watching it flicker as she set it down carefully and slowly blowing out the match afterwards. Her blue eyes gazed down at the simple, burning candle, and a few tears welled uncontrollably. She did not want to fight them back for once. It felt right.

            Her voice barely above a whisper, she gazed continuously down at that lit candle, and said to it sincerely, "Thank you…"

**_To Be Continued…_**

****


	5. Wildfire

**Author's Note:** Now, angst is in that genre up there _::__points::_ for a reason… and here it comes. It took me a while, but if you read the trailer – and even if you haven't – you knew it was coming, right? If not… shame on you _::__pokes tongue out with a grin::_ I **am** Clez, after all _::winks::_ It's what I do… on with the show!

**Iblis:** You'll see why he wants Tom alive, won't you? _::winks::_

**funyun****:** Ah yes, the _League_ are being dense. I'm glad you're finding it different to BPWP. That's very comforting. I figured Mina would be overwhelmed. I know _I_ would, and I'm not a vampire. Tom Sawyer is hardly the kind to just sit back; I'm right there with you, so I _had_ to have him cuss and thrash at M madly like he did. In character, in my impression. I'm so very glad you liked that candle scene. I lost the original version in my hard drive crash, so I had to redo it… ugh. Heh, I hadn't noticed the whole irony of the white candle and Tom's less than angelic nature _::__smiles::_ Thank you for your lovely review. Here is the new part, and I hope the wait wasn't too long for you.

**drowchild****:** Of course they didn't get the bit about Sawyer, heh. That would have ruined the tension. Don't poke the Queen… I might poke back… mwahahaha!

**freedomfighter82:** Grr on Dante indeed. And he's supposed to be disliked, so that's a good thing. Aw, you spoil me _::__blushes::_ Thank you regardless. Mina isn't a Buddhist, no, but that's the most spiritual place aboard the Nautilus. Perfect for the candle, wouldn't you agree? Plus, from what I saw of that room in the film, it looked gorgeous, and that imagery in my head… I was actually filling the kettle, and her doing that in my head… I welled up. Gah.

**BloodMoonLycan:** Thank you for loving that scene. Comforting to know. Choked you up? Wow… I'm glad of that, actually, because I was hoping to get people's emotions going. And yes… Dante had better watch it… and watch those claws… you could have someone's eye out with those _::__remembers the irony of that comment with regards to Cyclops, and giggles::_ Okay… I know that's not funny. Ahem.

**Funky In Fishnet:** Thank you for calling it beautiful. That's touching. You like how I write Mina? That is a huge compliment in itself. She's my second favourite, under… the obvious choice. Here's the new part. I hope you enjoy it.

**LotRseer3350:** Yay for Mina indeed. How dare they nearly lose faith! Grr. Bad _Gentlemen_. You'll see when they find out… don't worry. Can't give anything away, can I? Heh.

**Sethoz:** Clever? Thank you. Heh. I couldn't be bothered to fiddle around and type out what Tom said, cuz I figured he would have been pretty… enraged, so very little would have been decipherable. Hehe, yay! Landon quote! Squeee! Hehe, yes, all us angst addicts have that sadist inside, don't we? Frighteningly. Hehe, good cover about the loss of a tongue there. Here's the more you requested.

**Sawyer Fan:** Thanks for the review. And yes, bummer doesn't quite cover it. Ack, my condolences. I feel your pain. Glad you like the story, and hope you like the continuation.

**kingleby****:** _::watches the rock sail towards Dante::_ Please don't kill him yet… I still need him. Kinda. And I don't think he'll listen, even with the threat of rocks. Glad you liked the message. Sneaky is the right word, yes. And no, I can't tell you.

And now, without any further ado, and to put you all out of your misery, here is Part Five of **Envenom…**

* * *

            Wrapped up in the insulating coat and boots, tight around his lean frame, he walked after M in the bitter cold, the snow and ice crunching beneath his feet as he strode. Just because he was immortal, invulnerable to the affects of time and weapons and decay, it did not mean he was immune to the cold. He felt it… he most definitely felt it, and it did not suit him one bit. He glanced ahead of him to the 'leader' – or so the man liked to think – and behind him, where the lieutenant, Dante, was quite literally – and somewhat unnecessarily – teasing Sawyer, tugging at his collar and half-dragging him through the snow.

            Dorian Gray rolled his brown eyes, and trudged on with poise not unbecoming a cat, or a lord, and he was neither… but he knew he was graceful, and handsome, and many times in the past, he had used both to his advantage. He smiled just subtly, at the corner of his mouth, and twirled his cane idly as he travelled.

            When he heard the slight commotion from behind him, and the telltale sound of flesh on flesh, he turned, along with M, to glance behind him. Dante was looming predatorily over the now still form of Sawyer, who lay on his side in the snow, clearly unconscious. Dante was glaring down at the body of the boy, with narrowed eyes, and something not too unlike a sneer on his face.

            M sighed heavily, and strode closer to his lieutenant, inquiring, "What happened?"

            Dante turned his head quickly, as if surprised, and replied firmly, "Little bastard tried to kick me… so I hit him."

            "Where did you hit him?" M asked without a pause, looking down at the unconscious form, the only movement being the slow rise and fall of his chest, which Dorian could just make out from where he stood, Sawyer's back facing him.

            "The head," Dante replied, as though this was an odd question, and Dorian noted the posture with which the man held himself. Clearly a fighter, with every limb tensed, ready for action, muscular and far from short to boot.

            M sighed once again, looking back to the immortal, before heading off on their course once again, calling loudly over his shoulder to Dante, saying, "Drag him if you have to… just, try not to hurt him any more, hmm? I'd like to have my own fun before you can have him."

            Dante chuckled dryly, in rather a cruel fashion, and snatched a hand down into the side of Sawyer's jacket and shirt collars, twisting his grip, and tugging. Sawyer was half lifted from the ground, his head lolling as he was dragged, positioned and held so that it dropped down near his chest. His boots left a clean path in the snow, and his long jacket dragged along the ice, soaking up moisture and chill as he was moved somewhat roughly. Dorian watched them go, glancing half heartedly back to where Sawyer _had_ been laying until a moment ago. He moved slowly to the spot, and looked down at the snow.

            Even as the immortal stood there, staring fixatedly, a light drizzle of snow started to topple from the clouds above. He crouched carefully, his coat dragging in the snow slightly, and slowly scooped up a handful of the snow. He stood once more, dark eyes fixed on what he held in his palm, and saw its now red hue.

            Blood had stained the snow and ice, though it would melt with the newly falling coat from above. But still, as he gazed around, he knew they could not afford the risk. Nonchalantly, he crushed the snow and ice in his hand with ease, letting it fall back to be lost in the layers underfoot, where he stepped upon it, crushing and losing it altogether.

            He turned to follow his companions, but froze when he thought he heard a sound from behind him, as if of movement upon the ice. Dark eyes pierced the snowfall, and after a quick yet thorough examination of the spartan field around him, he deduced it had been nothing more than a rabbit or the like, which he must have startled upon his hesitation. There was nothing there now, and with a simple lifting of a pristine brow, he followed on after the others, not keen on being left behind.

            As Dorian moved off, he failed to notice the almost intangible frame of Rodney Skinner move up to where the immortal had crushed the snow, brushing fingertips against its slightly visible tainting, and sighing heavily, before giving cautious chase once again.

* * *

            Something about sitting there in his cabin, taking and reading notes on the mission so far… just didn't seem right. He felt as though he should be doing something, other than simply staring down with his pen in his hand, wondering what to write next. He had completely lost his train of thought, and it showed. Sighing heavily, he reached up, and pulled his spectacles from his face, laying them down next to the now discarded pen and notebook. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, feeling what could only be the beginnings of a headache approaching, creeping up on him and heading straight for the temples.

            Allan looked to the side of the wanly lit desk, where three rifles were propped one beside the other. Two Winchesters, and one elephant gun, Matilda… they appeared almost proud, simple in their power… but something wasn't right about the way they simply sat there, one alongside the other. Only two – strictly, one, officially – belonged to the hunter… the other claimed after its owner had been lost. The hunter furrowed his brow, and thought back on what Mrs. Harker had planned to do. She hadn't come out and said it, admitting it to the others, but he had been able to read it in her eyes.

            Pulling in a deep breath, wincing at the slight stinging in his left shoulder from where M – the Fantom, whatever he wanted to be called – had stabbed him, and then stood, his mind made up. He reached out with a hand, and took the claimed Winchester rifle in his grasp, striding for the door purposefully. He remembered the way to his destination quite clearly from the few times in which he had explored the vessel curiously during their mission, and Captain Nemo had made it easier to find, singling it out with its fine white double doors.

            It didn't take him long to reach it, hesitating at the doorway, worried slightly about intruding upon someone else inside the room… if indeed there was someone in there. He had no way of telling without opening it up to enter himself. Sighing lightly, he reached forward, and opened the doors, revealing it to be very wanly and dimly lit by a single candle, set mournfully at the base of the statue of Kali.

            Allan frowned, and sighed once again, stepping inside, and closing the doors for a moment, so he could be alone to do what he felt he needed to. He hoped he would feel somewhat more at ease after this… two deaths on his head was getting too much to bear, and he wanted to lift some of the weight. He didn't want to free himself of the blame… that would be impossible, he knew, with his direct involvement. He should never have left Sawyer alone in that car.

            Crouching with a little difficulty before the candle, obviously placed and lit respectfully by Mina Harker, Allan glanced up at the rendition of the goddess, and considered it for a while in its splendour. Nemo truly did recognise his heritage with admiration; that much was clear from the immaculate statues and visages dotted throughout and upon his vessel.

            Hesitantly at first, Allan leaned forward, rifle in his hands gently, and placed it behind the flickering candle, propping it at the base of the statue, ensuring it was secure. The light from the flame glinted off the intricate engraving on the firing chamber of the Winchester. Locking his dark eyes on the weapon, he was content to sit there a while, and be alone with his thoughts… but there was important work to be done. Despite not being involved with the actual repairs, he had his own jobs to do. He was not an engineer or a mechanically minded man, but he had his uses.

            Standing woefully, glancing down at the rifle once again, he muttered, "Goodbye, Sawyer," and turned to leave the room, closing the doors behind him, leaving the weapon and the candle as a silent, simple shrine in memorial of the young agent.

* * *

            The first thing he became aware of upon slowly waking, groggy and pained, was the intense throbbing in the left side of his head, and the almost damp feeling to it, sticky and warm… altogether unpleasant. He winced heavily, hissed through clenched teeth, and then felt something constrict around his right wrist, locking it tightly in a metal restraint. It wasn't right, and he had to stop it, any way he could… and fast. He couldn't be restrained again.

            So it was – even with the intense pain in the side of his head – that he fought with everything he had, thrashing and trying blindly to strike out at whoever was trying to restrain him. Something pinned and squeezed his left wrist, and he gasped slightly at the pressure that was applied, trying to fathom what was going on, and who these people were.

            He became aware of the fact that his coat was gone; where, he didn't know. He just knew his arms were suddenly cooler than they had been before, and they were bare under the grip of the strong and insistent man to his left, as he lay helpless on his back on the hard floor of where he now was. The guns were completely gone from his waist now as well, no longer holstered at his sides. It all slowly started to flood back to him, what had happened, and who he had seen… piece by piece, he regained his memory of the recent events.

            "Oh for goodness' sake," someone drawled as he kicked out, hearing a yell of either irritation or pain from whoever was struck, probably both, "he is only a _boy_, Dante! Hurry up, and finish it."

            _Not Dante… please not Dante…_

            He remembered the man, how he had teased and taunted him relentlessly on the way to where they were now… Mongolia. That was it. They were in Mongolia, in M's private fortress, looming and ominous as it had been from the outside, before Dante had knocked him out with a blow to the head… the pain in his head… Dante had caused it to intensify madly, and he wished he had a hand free to inspect the damage he could feel, matting his hair and making the entire left side of his face uncomfortable, clammy and almost sticky, he knew… he just couldn't be certain without touching it, that the substance was blood from what _had_ been a simple cut to the brow.

            Something gripped around under his jaw tightly when he tried to fight again, and with an added squeeze on his left wrist for good measure, the second manacle locked, despite his struggles, and his attempted – although muffled – yell of anger and defiance.

            He heard the noise, like metal scraping against metal, and then felt the horrible sudden tugging on his arms, even as Dante – he _guessed_ it was Dante – pulled himself away. He was wrenched upward, and he gave a yelp when it pulled awkwardly on his arms, lifting him off the floor quickly and abruptly. He felt his feet leave the ground, and with the suddenness of the motion, he swung slightly, his own movements adding to it, noticing how the toes of his boots only just scraped the floor. He clenched his fists, winced, and rolled his head back a little.

            Tom Sawyer opened his green eyes, looking up groggily to the chains and winch-like device that suspended him from the ceiling of an immaculate and generously furnished room, a private chamber obviously. And the owner of said chamber was standing at the unlit hearth, staring into it, shortly before he removed his heavy cloak, thrusting it none too gently at one of the men who was leaving the room.

            Tom could sense Dante behind him, off just to his left, and tried to look back at him, to no avail. The way he was positioned made it difficult, and he simply gave up after a while, closing his eyes tightly as the terrible aching in his skull flared and pounded anew, threatening to split it in two. He hissed through his teeth again, and groaned quietly.

            M paced up to him, eyeing him almost as one would a curious insect, and sighed, apparently bored or un-amused. With his eyes closed, Tom missed the glinting of something metal in the light.

            He wanted to kick out at M, as he opened his eyes, gazing down at the inwardly smug man, seeing the triumph in his eyes as he stared up at his chained captive… no, not now. He would strike, but not yet. Something about the timing felt wrong, though he couldn't place what that was. Breathing as steadily as he could manage, he glared down at M, the hatred and defiance in his eyes, or so he hoped. M would have had to be blind or stupid to miss the intent in his expression anyway.

            M chuckled dryly, and stepped a little closer, even as Tom rolled his head back slightly, feeling its unbelievable weight. Whenever he closed his eyes, colours tried to dance, to confuse him, but with what little force of will he had at the time, he forced them away.

            It was beyond impossible to stifle the cry when he felt something pierce his side, just above his waist to the right, and he threw his head forward, clenching his teeth, and then giving an anguished sound, feeling the blade of the stiletto push deeper. He tried not to whimper, rolling his head back suddenly, and trying to struggle against the restraining manacles, gasping and panting against the intense, burning pain, even as the laugh from behind assaulted his ears, dry and mocking. Dante, apparently, was amused by the injury.

            His chest heaving with the sudden attack, Tom brought his head forward and down again, wincing, and looking to the imbedded blade in his abdomen, off to the side. He groaned again, trying to remember whether or not a vulnerable organ was at risk with the wound. His head swam, refusing to focus and work as he wanted it to, and he looked to M, attempting to keep his vision from blurring.

            M smiled viciously, cocking his head to one side as he stood staring, intrigued it seemed, saying, "I told you I would have 'fun' planned for you, didn't I, brat?"

            Dante chuckled again, and Tom could feel the dark eyes boring into the back of his head, even as he tried vehemently to keep the darkness at bay. It was gnawing at him hungrily, trying to claim him, and it forced its way into the edges of his mind, clouding it over, and with one final – somewhat weak, he knew – defiant glare aimed at M, he allowed his head to loll completely forward, succumbing to the overwhelming darkness.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	6. Burdens

**Author's Note:** Hope you were all 'happy' with the first dose of angst _::__somewhat concerned expression::_ Now, remember… um… death threats are… um… I got nothin'.

**freedomfighter82:** Well, it's fun for M, obviously. Tea parties are fun? So glad you teared up. Good to know. Poor everyone is easier to say.

**Angharad:** I must taunt you, because I am Clez. Satisfactory? M is definitely out of his trees, yes. Tom doesn't have any luck, no. And he's mine _::__cuddles Tom::_ I should be the one to make it better, after all. Glad you liked the description of Gray… but it was Dorian thinking of himself. So that explains his choices. It probably did hurt Allan, yes. And as for the vengeance… what do you think? Heh.

**Nimmo Gray:** I'm doing it to you because I can. Heh.

**Funky In Fishnet:** Thank you for the compliments. Eventually is the right word, yes… but just how will I end it? Gah, even my shout outs are teasing.

**LotRseer3350:** They do indeed have a wicked sense of humour. And it is indeed always Tom. Angst is too fun, to answer your question.

**Drakena the Destroyer:** Thanks for the review. Love your art, as always.

**funyun****:** Uh oh… not a good translation for brat. Heh. Glad you liked the gun. Feeling sorry for everyone is the right approach. The 'fun' has just begun, yes. And he's Tom Sawyer… of course he struggles, heh. If he gives up, M wins, right? The stiletto… it's M's trademark weapon, I've noticed… and I used it in _'Out of Sight, Out of Mind'_, didn't I? Oops. Ah well. And it's Sethoz's turn to use it next, I mean… oh whatever, heh.  

**BloodMoonLycan:** Don't bite your fingernails… bad for them. Oh, no, no Mongolian orphan, don't worry, heh. And smack Dante all you want, just don't kill him yet.

**kingleby****:** Heh, cattle prod it is then. And you're not sick, it's called ANGST ADDICTION… you might belong perfectly in Sethoz's and mine's 'foundation'. A.A.A., Angst Addicts Anonymous, heh.

**Capt. Cow:** I did indeed update quickly… twice. Yay, banish the cherries! Busted custard…?

**Sethoz:** Yes… Tommy. Thank you for the compliments. Glad you liked the Dorian part, and how I write Dante. And yes, I know what you mean by the quote. Nasty wound indeed… and as for the blade, you'll see. Here's the next part… hope you like it. _::pokes M relentlessly::_

**I love mAcaroni and cheez:** Tom is the easiest target. He's mortal, and relies on a weapon mostly for defence. See why we always go for Tom? Here's the update, as you wanted.

Now, just to keep everyone from murdering me, here is Part Six of **Envenom…**

* * *

            M watched the unconsciousness claim Sawyer, and sighed, almost disappointed. He eyed the stiletto blade, buried up to the narrow hilt in the American's side, and considered removing it. No… he would wait until he could savour that moment, when Sawyer was awake. He would leave it in place for now. It would stem the bleeding for the time being also. He didn't want his captive dying on him already. He glanced to the bloodied face once again, noticing that the simple cut near the brow had spread to become a gash over the side of the left temple, caused by Dante's forceful blow outside upon their approach. The blonde hair was slightly matted, and clinging to the boy's face, and M sighed, turning away.

            Dante moved around to face the chained agent, looking up at him almost curiously, even as M said, "Let _me_ have my fun with him first. Then, I promise, you can do whatever you like with him." He felt rather than saw his lieutenant's manic grin, scheming already, and rolled his eyes, though in good humour. Dante was enthusiastic, at least, if nothing else.

            M walked to the cold fireplace, and stared into it, considering lighting it up. The chill did not effectively penetrate the fortress, especially not in his chambers, where they had _ensured_ it would not. They had checked there were no cracks or ruined areas in this part of the old fortress, hence M's claiming it. But still…

            He lit the fireplace almost nonchalantly, wondering what had become of the immortal. He had played his part well, M knew, and he smiled to the flames, his mind running over plans, before he turned to look back at Dante. The lieutenant reached a hand for the grip of the stiletto, moving as if to pull it free.

            "No," M snapped bluntly, and the man pulled his hand away at once, glancing curiously to his superior, "leave it where it is. I'll take care of it when he wakes up." He let the slightest edge of his intention seep into his voice and words, and Dante clearly picked up on them, grinning slyly, and looking up into the face of the agent once again, even as M eyed the flames once more, watching them crackle and burn away at the logs within, hungrily licking at them.

            His mind rushed busily with his actions and plans and what was to come… and then something occurred to him. He ran over it a couple of times in his brain, and then his slight smile started to grow, slowly but surely becoming a grin, before he laughed, quietly at first. It grew it volume quickly, and then he threw his head back a little, barking it out.

            Dante turned, intrigued and confused by M's behaviour, and cocked his head in an inquisitive manner, not speaking a word.

            M got a hold on his mirth, and calmed himself, shaking his head with a smile that had thoroughly reached his eyes, before saying, "They think he's _dead_."

            Dante furrowed his brow, and M rolled his eyes subtly. Did he have to spell everything out?

            "If, by any chance or miracle, the _League_ survive the bombs Gray planted," M began clearly, striding a little way away from the lit fire in the wall, "then what reason do they have to think him anything _other_ than dead?" He gestured vaguely to the hanging captive. "They didn't see him after leaving him in that blasted car, did they?"

            Dante narrowed his eyes further, clearly not quite thinking along the same lines.

            "Where did you say you found him?" M inquired anew, trying a new approach, though somewhat impatiently.

            "Outside the old theatre."

            "And the building had been destroyed, yes?"

            Dante nodded firmly.

            "What about the automobile?" M paused, waiting for an answer. "The thing, like the tank, only smaller, with six wheels. Did you _see_ it?"

            Dante shook his head. "It was in the building, probably."

            M laughed anew, sitting himself in a comfortable armchair by the fireplace, the light playing eerily over his features as he continued, "Then they would think him perished along _with _it!"

            Dante seemed to understand then, and smiled broadly. He cackled quietly, along with M, and turned to face the insensible Sawyer, who was still – obviously – suspended from the ceiling. He bowed his head, twisted his neck, to look up into the agent's face, saying, "Looks like no one's coming to save _you_ any time soon, boy."

            M grinned, feeling better about himself already. It seemed things were looking up.

            With a light sigh of contentment, he glanced to his lieutenant, saying, "Go and see how things are coming along, would you?"

            Dante nodded, and swiftly left the room obediently, leaving M to consider his options, watching his captive with humour and intrigue. He could definitely have some fun before he needed to leave for Europe… and then who was to say he couldn't take the boy with him? But he would probably grow bored of him before then. Nevertheless… things certainly did seem to be going his way recently.

            Illuminated by the firelight, M grinned cruelly, eyes fixed on Sawyer.

* * *

            The two men moved through the open door out onto the conning tower, feeling the vibrations of the work being carried out within, through the bulkheads and plating as they completed their journey. They had taken a much-needed break from their individual tasks, and Henry Jekyll for one felt that it was appreciated, to be able to get away from the stuffy infirmary for just a few minutes, if not more. He needed the fresh air perhaps as much as he needed to do what else he had come to do.

            Beside him moved Captain Nemo, as they simultaneously strode to the railing, the cool breeze nipping at them as the Nautilus sat in the middle of the waves, still under repair. They had about another day before they could get moving again, according to calculation, and then they would be on their way, hopefully in time to complete their mission; stop M from starting his war. The man – not to mention the insufferable Dorian Gray – had certainly made a mess of the vessel upon which they stood now.

            Henry regarded the waves, sensing the melancholy in the air between himself and his companion, and regarded the captain with grey-blue eyes filled with sympathy, seeing the stoic expression, yet the sadness was clearly conveyed in the dark, mysterious gaze. He had left his jacket down in the infirmary, and as such, felt the slight breeze around his forearms, where he had rolled up his sleeves for practicality.

            He eyed Captain Nemo once more as they stood together at the railing, and then, on some unspoken cue, the two men lifted their hands, and dropped the objects they held simultaneously. The two single white flowers drifted down, aided by the wind, towards the churning waves below. They were tugged by the breeze slightly, but landed in the waters, and were lost to the ocean. Henry watched them disappear, and then sighed heavily.

            He looked to Nemo again, seeing the man's gloomy expression now. He missed his friend and first mate, clearly. Ishmael had seemed like a valuable individual, in more ways than one.

            "They were both good men," Henry voiced earnestly with a slight nod of his head, perhaps trying to reassure both Nemo and himself at the same time.

            "I did not know Agent Sawyer as well as I might have liked to," Nemo responded quietly, "but I am certain you are right. He showed a bravery and compassion of a man beyond his years. Ishmael however, was a dear friend, and will indeed be deeply missed."

            "Their deaths… will not be in vain," Henry attempted, losing his stability a little in its conviction, but attempting sincerity as much as he could, hoping he had achieved it for the most part.

            "They shall be avenged." The way in which Nemo spoke told Henry Jekyll that he would not take this matter lightly. He meant what he said. "It is a great shame that Sawyer was lost at such a young age. I am certain he would have accomplished much in his life… but his last act saved an entire city."

            Henry stared out sorrowfully at the waves. "A city that will never know his name…"

            Nemo turned his mysterious gaze upon the doctor, saying darkly, "To many, Dr. Jekyll… names are meaningless."

            With that, the Indian turned on his heel slowly, and left the tower, with Henry looking after him, wondering what it was he had meant, before he eyed the vast ocean once more. He tried to look for that ray of sunshine… he knew it was there somewhere… he just had to find it.

* * *

            _Slowly but surely, everything faded in from an overwhelming darkness that had engulfed all, shafts of light and fog piercing the shadows, and illuminating mysteriously. The atmosphere was somewhat eerie, and the lone figure knelt on the ground, trying to fathom where he was… what was going on. He was frightened, and to his knowledge, he was alone._

_            "You not givin' up **that** easy…"_

_            He turned his head quickly to try and find the owner of the all too familiar voice, and his head swam with agony. He held it in his hands, gasping loudly, and trying to keep a hold on himself, before saying as loudly as he could manage, "I can't see you…"_

_            A light, only mildly humoured laugh drifted to him on the strange fog that hung all around, and pained, he opened and lifted his eyes, his head rising with his gaze to take in the approach of a figure that steadily came into focus, almost melting out of the light._

_            "You were never one to quit, Tom Sawyer… don't you start now," said the figure as they materialised completely, making Tom almost physically reel with the shock of it. His eyes welled immediately, and he simply stared, amazed and in confusion. How could this be happening?_

_            "You died," Tom whispered sorrowfully, his voice laden with guilt, "I killed you."_

_            Huckleberry Finn came to crouch before his friend, and reached out a hand, touching it to the side of Tom's head, saying earnestly, "You didn't **kill** me, Tom. Don't say that."_

_            "But I–"_

_            "You did all you could," Huck interrupted, looking him in the eye with his own brown orbs, his chocolate hair falling about his head almost mischievously. "The **Fantom** killed me." After a brief pause, he continued, "Now listen to me… you have to hang on, all right?"_

_            Tom furrowed his brow. What was Huck talking about?_

_            "No matter **what** he does to you," Huck continued firmly, but with a compassion lacing his voice, "you have to hang on. Don't give in to him. Don't show him that he's hurtin' you, all right? You can't let him see that… or he'll win."_

_            Tom frowned. Now he remembered. A hand slowly and subconsciously drifted to his right side, which burned and flared madly as he made contact. He whimpered, and tried to draw his head away from Huck, almost ashamed. Huck used his other hand to gently hold Tom's head so that they were face to face, not only holding his gaze, but his attention, locking eyes with him, and continuing insistently, "**Fight** him, Tom… you hear me?" He looked more serious now than Tom could ever remember. "You were always a stubborn one, Tom… don't stop now. **Fight him**…"_

_            The darkness started to absorb the light and fog then, and Tom looked quickly, eyes filled with panic, back to Huck, breathing rapidly, and looking for some semblance of support._

_            And in Huck's eyes, even as his form started to lose coherence, he found it. He always had._

_            It wasn't long before the light and strange fog had disappeared completely, and he was lost in a sea of darkness once more._

* * *

            Rodney Skinner strode stealthily and carefully through the corridors of the fortress, cursing his distraction. When they had entered the fortress – following the villains, as it were – he had been figuratively thrown immediately, taking in the horrific sights of the cavernous building he now found himself in. The noise, the smell, the sights… before he had realised, he had lost them, and he wished he had paid more attention now.

            But now he was trying to trace after them, sticking to the more glamorous corridors and doorways, knowing the smug M would want to hide himself away in the better part of the dilapidated – for the most part – fortress. He was mostly following the heat as well, and not just on instinct, for he truly was starting to freeze. His invisibility could truly be considered as a blessing and a curse all rolled into one. A blessing for the additional boons to his work, but a curse for the process being irreversible, and having to be naked for the effect to be at its fullest.

            One satisfaction at having been lost for a while was, he had come across a – no doubt stolen – Morse code device in the fortress. And he had abused the advantage. As he walked, carefully across the stone floors, he wondered whether he had made the right decision in neglecting to communicate that Sawyer was still alive. Skinner had only chosen not to mention it so the _League_ wouldn't get distracted from their goals. That was the last thing they needed. He would tell them when they rendezvoused in a couple of days. No doubt Quatermain would be furious, but Skinner could live with a little anger, so long as he could do his part to help.

            He was close now, he could feel it… the warmth was growing. He heard a slight crackling from a partially open doorway up ahead, and as he neared it, he could see the dancing firelight from inside. He shuddered slightly; he had never really liked fire. The way in which it was nigh uncontrollable had always frightened him a little. Shaking off the thoughts and focusing his mind, he squeezed himself through the opening, coming into a lavishly decorated and furnished chamber that could _only_ belong to M… who was actually seated, staring in to the fireplace as Skinner froze near the doorway.

            After a moment, when he realised he hadn't blown his cover, Skinner glanced around the room, locking his eyes upon the hanging – quite literally – form of Sawyer, who was suspended off the floor by a good two inches. The toes of the boots barely scuffed the carpeted floor underneath him, and Skinner traced his eyes up the limp body, seeing the thick manacles that restrained the American. _They_ weren't going to come away easily.

            As if on second thought, he looked back down quickly, and winced uncontrollably at the wound in Sawyer's right side. When had that happened? Carefully picking his way around the tables, chairs and other odd pieces of furniture between the doorway and where the captive hung, Skinner came up before Sawyer, looking into his face. He saw the nasty gash across the left temple, stretching from above the brow, to the side of his head. Blood had flowed generously from the wound, and all down his face.

            Skinner stepped back on reflex when a drop of blood tumbled from Sawyer's face to the floor, and he frowned, before scowling over his shoulder at the seated and unaware form of M. What he wouldn't give to strangle the life out of the underhanded weasel right there and then… but his men would realise something was amiss, and probably kill Sawyer, which was beyond counterproductive. Skinner wanted to ensure Sawyer _survived_, not the opposite.

            His eyes lowered to the blade protruding from Sawyer's side now, and he saw the slight seeping of blood from around it, soaking very subtly into the shirt. The blade was blocking the injury from oozing too much, so even as Skinner reached to grip the hilt and pull, he stopped himself. Not only would he be putting Sawyer at risk of greater injury by removing the only thing keeping him from bleeding horribly, but M would realise he was here. After all, the dagger was buried too deeply to simply fall out of its own accord.

            _Hold on, kid_, Skinner thought to himself, frowning sympathetically at the restrained and unconscious American, before he resigned himself to simply move to the rear wall, and sit down against it, able to do nothing but watch.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	7. Wait and Bleed

**Author's Note:** It should start to pick up from now on, I promise… so long as I remember to update sooner. Oh yes, and just on a note, Huckleberry Finn, who featured in the last chapter's dream sequence, is – as always, in my stories – based upon the charming young Breckin Meyer. _::smiles::_ Just thought you should know, if you didn't already.

**freedomfighter82:** It's even easier to say PE. I'm glad you teared up, shows I'm doing something right. Thank you for saying I rock. Very much appreciated.

**funyun****:** Eh, who wants to write essays? They're no fun. I'm glad you find M and Dante creepy. Hit home on that one then, huzzah! Huck is a fantastic character, and I love him _::__hugs Huck::_ My Huckleberry… I did indeed understand what you meant by 'a dream, yet not like a dream', yes. I'm glad you thought of it that way. Hope the homework went okay.

**Capt. Cow:** Never been to Australia, no. Thanks, and glad you liked the chapter.

**Funky In Fishnet: **Ouch… my condolences if you feel his pain… just kidding, I'm taking it as a compliment. Did you know that 'Nemo' is actually translated to 'no one'? _:__:smiles knowingly, and winks::_

**kingleby****:** I gave my fear of fire to Skinner… figured it would be a pet hate of his, what with the rough life he's had. He's got to have had a run in with it before, right?

**Nimmo Gray:** Yup, say hello to Skinner! Glad you liked the dream.

**LotRseer3350:** Glad you liked the Nemo/Jekyll thing, and the Tom/Huck dream. Very comforting to hear that.

**Sethoz:** Don't strangle Skinner! I need him! _Tom_ needs him! O.O Ack, not frozen bakery products! Please, _no_! . Ack, it's the evil laugh from Sethoz… not good.

**Drakena the Destroyer:** Glad you liked the dream. Nightmare sequences are fun, yes. I took your word for Henry's eyes, cuz you're a Henry fan, so I figured you'd know, heh. M is indeed a jerk, and Roxburgh is just too good at playing villains. And congrats again on that fan letter.

**Leigh S. Durron:** It's easier to say it as 'PT', Leigh _::__wink::_ Glad you liked the last few chapters, and here's the next!

Without any further ado, here is the next part of **Envenom…**

* * *

            Stirring very slightly, awareness slowly flooding back to him, he resisted the urge to move, instinctively trying to keep as still as possible to avoid anyone noticing his regaining consciousness. He listened, trying to ignore the throbbing in the side of his skull, attempting to pick out any noises that would determine where M was, and if Dante was back. He could hear very little, apart from a slight crackling every now and then that he couldn't figure out… not without opening his eyes… and he didn't want to open his eyes if it showed his vulnerability to torment once again.

            "It's okay, kid, he's gone."

            Tom started uncontrollably, hissing and groaning at once when the sudden movement caused the blade in his side to twist.

            "Easy, Sawyer, easy, it's just me," came the cockney voice from near to him, and it was more compassionate and sympathetic than he had ever heard it, shocking him a little, but causing him to relax slightly nevertheless, aware now that no danger loomed.

            Tom closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them slowly, asking, "Skinner? What're you doin' here?"

            "Checkin' up on you, that's what," Skinner replied, his voice somewhat hushed, as though he were concerned about discovery. Tom guessed the thief was before him somewhere, and scanned his eyes around the area there; trying to figure out the man's exact position, knowing it would be difficult to do so, especially with the injury to the head that was successfully clouding his mind, even if only by a fraction. He saw a slight indentation in the rather shallow carpet, and when it shifted for a moment, he placed that as the invisible man.

            Tom felt something touch and hold the hilt on the stiletto, and he gave an abrupt yell, cutting it short, when it shifted it, and he threw his head back, clenching his fists, feeling the ache starting to build and make itself known in his arms from the awkward restraint now as well.

            "Sorry," Skinner breathed, sighing, and Tom felt the pressure on the weapon remove itself. "You know I'd get rid of it if I could, but M'd know I was here… and we don't want that, do we?" Though Tom knew Skinner was struggling for humour, the man's concern was evident in his voice.

            Tom nodded carefully. "Yeah, I know…" he managed to say after a moment, his throat dry, closing his eyes again for a long minute. He heard movement from in front of him, and opened his eyes once more; looking to where Skinner was standing, and wondering what it was that the man was doing or thinking.

            That was when he remembered what M had said to him out near the pod, and he asked quickly, "Are the _League_ alive?"

            "What do you mean?"

            "Are they _alive_, Skinner? M said–"

            "Don't bite, Sawyer," Skinner interrupted. "M's trying to goad you… and what he said about a gift was the bait. Don't bite, okay? I know it's hard, because he can use that against you, but you just have to fight him, all right?"

            The words burned into Tom's memory, and stirred recognition… where had he heard words like that before? It hadn't been Skinner to say them, obviously, but he knew he had heard them on a previous occasion… he just couldn't remember where and when and who.

            After a long moment, he sighed, and nodded again. "All right."

            "The _League _can handle themselves," Skinner added. "They know what they're doin', and they're probably on their way here right now."

            Tom tried to take comfort in that fact, looking up to the chains holding him again, and wincing. Skinner must have seen his expression, for he spoke, and somewhat regretfully, "I'd get you down if I could… but I've already checked it out, and they're not budging… sorry."

            "It's okay," Tom replied quietly, and then the two simultaneously turned their heads towards the closed door, breath held as they waited, both certain they had heard a noise.

            When nothing happened, they diverted their attention back to one another again, and Skinner said, "I don't know where he went, but he'll probably be back soon, I don't doubt. Just remember what I said. Just… don't bite, no matter what he says."

            Tom nodded, wincing a little afterwards, reminding himself that such an action with a head injury probably wasn't the smartest thing to do.

            That was when they heard approaching footsteps, and Tom's heart leapt into his throat a little way. M was coming back. He looked down to Skinner – or the rough area where he suspected him to be – even as the thief said, "I'll be back, all right?"

            Tom refrained from nodding or speaking, even as he heard the movement as Skinner moved away from him, and towards the door. There was the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock, and Tom furrowed his brow, glaring a little at the paranoia M apparently had about his captive. But then again, to think that M was worried about Tom's potential escape, even with the chains, and a wound… it was a little comforting. He held onto that, even as the key was removed from the door, and it opened, permitting the familiar form of M. Tom imagined Skinner squeezed out of the opening, even as M turned, closing the door behind him, leaving it unlocked.

            The man slowly turned back, and the two locked eyes intensely across the room.

            "Finally awake," M drawled, smiling just discreetly. "I was worried I had had too much fun too soon." He chuckled dryly as he moved towards Tom.

            The younger man glared, unable to stop himself from doing so, and sucked in a slow breath, saying, "This isn't a game."

            "Oh yes it is," M contradicted, coming to a stop before Tom, looking to him firmly and triumphantly. "Only some of us have more control than others… more luck, as it were. Such as myself. You see," M continued, cocking his head, "you are a mere pawn, boy, whereas someone like myself – for example – is… well, shall we say a king?"

            Tom's expression took a turn into a grimace, and his eyes bore down into M, intent, focused. Though – with the restraints – he was actually now at least two or three inches taller, and the other man had to look up into Tom's eyes, the American took very little pride or comfort in that fact. He would much rather be down on the ground, at eye level, than up where he was. It was starting to play havoc with his shoulders, though he refused to show his discomfort.

            Staring down at that man, memories swam and flashed in his mind, and for a moment, he relived one of the worst moments in his life, where he mentally heard a deafening gunshot, and saw the death of his closest friend.

            Unable to stop himself, he growled, "You killed my partner."

            Simply, M nodded, saying blandly, "Yes I did."

            Tom seethed at the nonchalance with which the man had admitted to it, and then snarled out, "If it's the last thing I do, I'll kill you…"

            M stepped closer, eyes never leaving Tom's, and quickly, his hand gripped the hilt of the imbedded weapon… and twisted it. Tom tried his hardest to bite back the cry, but it seemed M was meticulously shifting the blade until he received a verbal reward for his torment. Tom couldn't hold it in any longer, and let out a sharp cry, eyes shut tightly, and trying to maintain a normal rhythm of breathing.

            With that, M chuckled, saying, "I very much doubt it, brat… you forget, _I'm_ the one with the control." And then he pulled the blade free completely, though not neatly, and Tom yelled again, groaning out a long anguished sound afterwards, and hanging his head for a moment. He made sure to lift it quickly, so M did not mistake it for submission, and he looked to his tormentor.

            M was standing before him now, and he admired the bloodied blade of his – apparently – favoured weapon, before twirling it, and cackling somewhat maniacally.

            Tom panted, eyes narrowed, teeth practically grinding at the mocking sound coming from his captor, before he forced out the words, "Your plans will fall through… and you'll go down _with_ them."

            M moved forward, apparently no longer amused, and snatched up a hand quickly, bringing it to rest under Tom's jaw, around his neck, tight enough to pin the American's head back slightly, but not enough to choke. The tip of the stiletto brushed along the underside of Tom's jaw, and he closed his eyes, breathing as steadily as he could manage, feeling the slow but steady flow of blood from the wound in his right side.

            When M spoke, it was with a low, almost growled voice that he did so, saying darkly, "We'll see about that… we'll see."

* * *

            Wondering when M was going to hold up his end of the infuriating bargain, he had taken to roaming the facility in which he now found himself, though by no choice of his own. After all, blackmail was a ghastly thing, and Dorian had found himself – not too long ago – a victim of such a deed. His portrait for the _League_… or the parts of them M needed anyway. Blood, skin, potion and science… it had seemed simple enough to begin with.

            _If only he had told me Mina was going to be the vampire I had to seduce_, he thought to himself with a lazy sigh, admiring a rather interesting tapestry to his right, cane tip to the floor of the hallway, dark eyes perusing the fabric and pattern. _I might have gone about this whole ordeal differently, I suppose._

            At least, he liked to think he would have. Once upon a time – to dabble with a cliché – he had been a good and honest young man, filled with curiosity and innocence… but after that portrait's completion… the boy had been lost. And here he stood now, the man he had become after… he couldn't recall his own age now, as peculiar as it sounded. He did recall Basil Hallward and Lord Henry though… quite vividly. And young, naïve Sibyl Vane. Sighing lightly, he wondered if they had ever conceivably had a future together.

            Casting aside such reminiscing, he thrust his mind back on the matter at hand, as he took to strolling further down the corridor, labelling the tapestry as… not his style. Too gaudy for his tastes, he had decided.

            But back to his thoughts… he realised how Mina's dislike – hate was such a strong word – for him must have intensified violently. Though it mattered very little now, he supposed… her being dead and all. Along with the rest of the _League_. Jekyll, Quatermain, Nemo, Skinner… all lost to the depths of the ocean. It was a marvel, Dorian knew, that no one had seen his underhanded treachery in the process, and how he had planted those bombs in strategic places aboard that impressive vessel. Yes, he had been impressed by the Nautilus, though M had shown him a handful of photographs of it beforehand, but it had not prepared him for the 'real deal', as it were. He almost felt a pang of guilt for destroying it… almost.

            Eyeing a portrait of some long-dead Mongolian warlord – or whatever he had been, rather hideous brute that he seemed to be – Dorian thought back on Mina Harker once again, and his shock at her turning up at his door along with the others. He certainly hadn't expected that, and he made a mental note to inquire of M why he hadn't been let in on _that_ little detail. It might have helped his duty if he had been informed fully before the event.

            _No matter… what is done, is done_, he tried to tell himself, to no avail. _Blasted guilt_.

            His brow furrowed uncontrollably, and his eyes wavered from the portrait, lowering a fraction. _Guilt?__ Me… Dorian Gray, feeling **guilt** of all things? I cannot recall the last time this happened… but then again, I have – over the years – successfully mastered most emotions, so how can I be sure this is even guilt I'm feeling right now._

            Shaking his head, his black locks shifting ever so slightly, he forced his feet to move him away from the portrait he now futilely blamed for his conflicting emotions.

            _It doesn't matter_, he told himself. _I need a distraction…_

* * *

            M tried unsuccessfully to suppress the wicked grin that crept onto his face as soon as the scream erupted from Sawyer again, and he pulled away the tool-cum-weapon he held in his right hand, admiring its glowing tip at length, before looking to the young man in front of him, who had screwed his eyes shut vehemently, hissing and panting, the front of his shirt open – torn open, as a matter of fact – to reveal his torso.

            The chains had been lowered a fraction using the winch device as well. M wanted the satisfaction of seeing Sawyer's defeat when it happened. His feet were on the floor now, though M noticed the very slight weakening of one, with the abuse he was inflicting upon the boy. There was enough give in the chains to allow for some bending of Sawyer's knees as well… he couldn't _fall_ to his knees, but he could slump, as it were, and that was what M was aiming for.

            When the American opened his eyes defiantly, and looked to M, the Englishman's grin fell for the most part, and he struck the hot end of the poker against his hostage – if you could even call him that, given that no one knew he was _here_ – hearing the cry once again, along with the rattle of the chains as Sawyer tried to struggle anew. M only laughed, pulling the pole away, shifting the grip in his hand once again, before lowering it, watching with mild satisfaction as the boy nearly succumbed to the weakness in his leg as the boot slammed down firmly to keep him balanced, and he breathed heavily, his head rolling back as he obviously attempted to recover from the burns.

            M was making sure not to inflict _too_ much damage with the heated poker from the fire… after all, he intended to keep this up as long as he could… perhaps set a new record for himself. He smiled, trying to remember his last… was it four days? Not very long really… a tad overzealous, on his behalf.

            He thought he heard Sawyer mutter something under his breath, but without asking for confirmation – something he _refused_ to do – M couldn't be certain… so he just let it drop, pretending nothing had happened, even as he took to pacing around the chained victim, taking in the heaving of the exposed chest as he breathed deeply, obviously aiming for indifference. If that was truly Sawyer's intention… he actually wasn't doing too badly. M knew for a fact that he was probably hurting so much more on the inside than he was letting on. He would get it out of him; he knew… it would just take time.

            "You blame yourself," M stated simply, watching the heat slowly slip out of the poker, but very discreetly. It would take a while for it to cool to a safe level, he knew. "Don't you?"

            Either Sawyer ignored him, or didn't hear.

            "Your partner's death… I know you do. After all," M paused to heave a dramatic sigh, "why shouldn't you?" His words took on a cold, hard edge, as he continued, "Partners are supposed to watch out for each other, I always thought… where were _you_ when I aimed that gun, hmm?"

            When he walked around in front of Sawyer, he saw the way the boy had closed his eyes tightly again, perhaps trying to shut out the voice.

            _Very well_, M thought, _we'll do this the hard way… not that I mind._

            He continued to pace around him, so much like the predator and prey they represented, and persisted with his verbal torment whilst the restrained American recovered somewhat from the physical. "I'll tell you where you were, _boy_… you were cowering like the child you are, hiding from the truth, when you could have _saved_ your partner… your friend. But you _didn't_, did you, boy? You let me kill him." He laughed cruelly, pausing near the agent to do so down his ear almost, seeing the slight flinch away from the sudden sound. "He's dead, at my hand, because of your cowardice."

            Without warning, he struck out with a foot, and slammed out the back of Sawyer's right knee. The American gave a startled yell, his right leg torn from under him as his knee reacted as M had expected. After a moment, gathering himself, Sawyer replaced the boot back on the ground, his harsh breathing growing in volume.

            M paced back to the fire, ramming the poker into it for a few moments, alternating his gaze between the sparks and the chained prisoner across from him, before pacing his way back over, hearing the fire die down a little after the disturbance.

            "Do others blame you for it, hmm?" M cocked his head. "I expect they would… it's only natural. When one returns with the others' body, and not a scratch on himself… it is the normal assumption."

            "Shut up," Sawyer practically hissed, eyes closed firmly again, breathing ragged.

            Inside, M laughed, but this was what he had been hoping for. Some sort of _challenge_ from the boy. "Family, friends… lovers… all turning against you for your stupid mistake."

            "Shut up," came the voice again, though with a little more volume and vehemence.

            "And now, because of you, here I am, on the brink of victory… with you as my prisoner… the reward I couldn't have hoped for. You sealed your fate with your ineptitude, boy… how does that make you feel? Not only responsible for the death of a close friend, but signing your own life away so freely."

            "Shut. Up."

            M laughed now, aloud, but quiet, discreet, a teasing sound. "Oh… if only the hunter were still alive… I would revel in revealing you to Quatermain… broken and defeated, a mere shell of a human being. You failed him, boy… just like you failed your loved ones, and your partner. You are a _failure_."

            "Shut up!" Sawyer cried, clenching his fists as he fought against the thick manacles again, prompting M to reward him with another application of the burning tip, tearing a loud, long cry out of him.

            M smiled victoriously, and pulled the poker away after a few more moments, seeing the clear agony on Sawyer's face, before he asked cruelly, "Had enough yet, brat?"

            Though it took a while for Sawyer to regain enough of his outward composure to actually manage a reply, it was gasped when he did so, "Go to hell…"

            M could practically taste the venom in those three little words, but it only served to humour him further, and he displayed that on his face, locking eyes with the American agent, smug as he retaliated triumphantly, "I'll see you there…"

            Despite his small victory in provoking Sawyer moments ago, his attention span was suffering, and he was growing bored of the boy. Sighing, he considered him, seemingly at length, before he tossed the poker towards the fire, hearing it clang deafeningly against the hearth, the heated end landing in the flames and causing them to flare madly for a moment, spark and hiss. M hadn't taken his eyes off his captive, and Sawyer looked right back at him, almost confused.

            M rewarded him with a sharp backhand across the face, applying enough force to completely throw the agent's head to the side, and cause him to lose his hold on consciousness. He saw the slumping of the form, the way the knees relaxed, and heard the chains rattle as they were pulled taut again.

            Eyeing Sawyer for a moment, he looked down at his left hand, the one he had used to strike viciously. Turning to gaze at the rear of the hand, he saw the coating of blood he had gained from the blow, where he had landed against the prior flow of such from the head wound.

            Sighing once more, he decided that now was as good a time as any to check up on progress. So it was that he – whilst cleaning his hand with a handkerchief from his pocket – headed for the door, opened and closed it around himself, and moved away from his chamber, leaving it unlocked. He needn't worry about the boy escaping.

            Of course, in his distraction, he missed the slightly smoggy outline peer around the corner near the abandoned chamber, watching his retreat, before the door seemingly opened and closed quietly of its own accord.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	8. Find Your Way

**Author's Note:** Hope I successfully frightened/terrified you in that last chapter… I doubt I made you recoil from the screen, but… mission accomplished, at least, I hope. But for the most part, you should have known that was coming, because of the trailer _::grins::_ This one starts off slower, but I wanted to do this at some point… you'll see what I mean.

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**freedomfighter82:** Something tells me no one's gonna have fun in this story. Thank you for the compliment; that means a lot. _::offers icepack::_

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**Angharad:** Guess you'll find out _::__wink::_

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**BloodMoonLycan: **Ack, don't cry, buddy! Okay… maybe I wanted people to cry. Poor kid indeed…

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**Scifirogue-klutz: **Lots of angst, indeed. Glad you like the story. Hope this update came in time to stop you from sending those flying monkeys after me…

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**Funky In Fishnet:** Harsh isn't the word. I said angst, and I meant it. _::wink::_ Glad you like the Skinner characterisation. And, of course, that you find M hateable. Good, good.

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**TARilus:** Probably is a good thing that Tom knows Skinner is there, yeah. You're right. Well, you're right in that Dorian Gray and M are both what you said they are as well. (And don't worry about the showdown; I'm getting to it.)

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**Capt. Cow:** Hope this was fast enough for you! Heh.

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**kingleby****:** Wow, you enjoy using that poker on M. Then again, who wouldn't? Thank you.

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**I luv tom:** Thanks for the review.

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**funyun****:** I'd never abandon you guys. After all… a few of you know – roughly – where I live _::__shifty, nervous gaze::_ I'd be hunted down, methinks. Heh, you did indeed see a part from the trailer. Seen a few now I think. I have to write them down and check them off as I do them to make sure they feature _::__laughs::_ Don't worry about the squeamish thing with the heat and fire… I'm right there with you. Makes you wonder why I wrote it. Hmm. I'll try not to overdo the guilt as well. I don't want it to be ruined for people either. That would be bad. Anyway, thanks for the review (you spelt adios right, btw) and here's the update.

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**Nimmo Gray:** I don't actually think M features in this chapter, oddly. Weird. Sorry to disappoint you. Enjoy the update.

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**LotRseer3350:** Wow, someone who likes the torture. Thanks. Oh, and by the way… you shouldn't be giving me ideas, aheh. It's dangerous.

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**Sethoz:** Uh oh… you're not calm. You have the breadstick _::__trembles::_ Remember you urged me to write this! Thanks for liking it, buddy. I'm always worried about getting too close to BPWP. Did you kill the clone yet?

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**bear****:** Thanks for the review! Here's the update for you.

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**Drakena the Destroyer:** Amusing chapter? I'll take that as a compliment. I have indeed finished Dorian's book, and I loved it. I finished it on the coach to see my sister, heh. I have most of the books save for Quatermain too. I just… can't be bothered. No offence, Quatermain! I'm reading _Dracula_ right now. M is indeed a creep… and you need to be careful about which Roxburgh you shoot _::__winces::_

And now, with my heartfelt apologies for neglecting to update sooner, here is the next part of **Envenom…**

* * *

Mina walked alongside Allan Quatermain, headed for the dining room on the Nautilus, where Captain Nemo had summoned them for a briefing on their situation. By the vampire's estimation, they should be just about ready to leave… if not now, then very soon. It was taking long enough as it was, and she hoped there wasn't any further delay. She was practically itching to get back in pursuit of Gray and M. This had gone on long enough.

The hunter pushed open the doors to the dining room, permitting the two of them entry, and they strode in to see Nemo and Jekyll waiting for them. The doctor looked exhausted, as though he was dead on his feet, and she made a note to remind him to sleep when this was finished. He would be of no use in the battle to come if he did not rest.

Nemo looked to them, and nodded, saying, "We are making swift progress. It is only a matter of hours before my Nautilus is ready to once again give chase."

Mina nodded slowly. "Good," she said quietly, with Quatermain nodding also in agreement.

"I thought it best to inform you," Nemo declared stoically, as always, and bowed his head. "I will return to my duties. I will have word sent to you when repairs are complete, and we are once again ready to set sail."

"Thank you, Captain," Quatermain and Jekyll said in turn, with Mina offering him a respectful nod. The Indian left the room then, with the doctor, hunter and vampire looking to one another, as if wondering what it was they should do with themselves now that they had been so quickly dismissed. Mina had thought there would be more to the meeting… she was somewhat disappointed.

"Well," Quatermain began quietly, "I have something to be getting back to." He offered them both a courteous nod, and left silently, with Mina looking after him. She frowned. She knew what he had done with the Winchester… she had gone back to check on the room, to see how the candle was burning or if it had gone out – finding it undisturbed – and had seen the weapon left behind it at the base of the statue. It had touched her, that simple gesture, but she still felt for the hunter.

She glanced back to Dr. Jekyll, who sighed and rubbed his face lethargically, and said, "You should rest." His weary grey eyes turned to her, as if surprised, and she continued, "You look exhausted, and there is – I believe – a battle to come. We need everyone we have…" Her voice trailed off, and she lowered her eyes, lifting them again after a moment, refusing to give in to her emotions, or even show them effectively on her face. "You should rest," she repeated quietly, and left the room, aiming to head back to her experiments, or take up her own advice. She was suddenly feeling somewhat tired – not to mention pensive – and yearned for solitude.

* * *

Skinner cursed quietly, unable to bite it back, when he saw the American slumped in his restraints, knees bowed slightly, head lolled forward, with his shirt unfastened, the thief realised after a moment. His curiosity got the better of him – though he _had_ heard the horrible noises of torment from outside the door – and he moved stealthily forward to find out why… wishing he hadn't as soon as his eyes locked on the exposed torso of the spy.

"Dammit," he sighed. "Son of a bitch…"

Sawyer had been burned, at sporadic intervals on his chest and abdomen, enough to leave somewhat ghastly wounds on his flesh. On top of the wound already in his right side, he looked a mess… and then there was the blood down the side of his face.

The younger man groaned quietly, shifted slightly, and then fell still again. Skinner watched him, no longer caring about his slightly smoggy state – after investigating the fortress – and looked around the room for something to help the injured team mate. He took to pacing around in his search after a few moments, browsing for anything he could use, and finally came upon a metallic carafe, lifting it for a moment, and smelling its contents. With its bland scent, he assumed it to be water, but just to be safe, he poured a little into the available mug by its side, and tasted it for himself, finding it oddly cool and refreshing… definitely water. Glancing back to the unlocked door – thankful, for once, that M was being overly-cocky and confident by leaving it as such – and then traced his way back over to the restrained agent.

"Sawyer," he said quietly, holding the glass in one hand, and using his other to brush aside some of the slightly matted blonde hair to get a glimpse of the American's eyes, which were closed. "Sawyer… c'mon, wake up for me, 'eh?"

There was another slight stirring, and Skinner heard the deep breath that symbolised a slow regaining of consciousness.

"C'mon, kid, it's Skinner… wake up," he pressed gently. "Wake up, Sawyer…"

For every extra moment that this took, the less Skinner would be able to help his friend, and the closer it got to when M would return. Skinner didn't know how long the man was going to be, but he couldn't afford to take any stupid risks.

The head jerked for a moment, and there was a light, almost inaudible groan, anguished and almost reluctant. It was as though Sawyer was hesitant to adhere to Skinner's plea.

"Wake up, Sawyer… it's Skinner. It's all right, M's gone."

With that, Sawyer pulled in a somewhat shaky deep breath, and forced his head up, face twisted into a pained wince, his fists clenching in their restraints, which rattled slightly as the American forcefully applied pressure to one of his own legs, lifting himself on one side, lopsided but relieving tension on his arms enough to lessen some of the expression on his face. He groaned again.

Skinner reached forward with a partially visible hand, and placed it carefully at the base of Sawyer's neck, feeling its clammy state, and seeing the agent's instinctive flinch.

"Hey, it's all right, it's _me_," Skinner reminded, a little more forcefully. "Hold still." He lifted the mug to Sawyer's mouth, steadily tipping it so the younger man could re-hydrate himself. Skinner was no doctor, he knew that… but he was aware that keeping the spy hydrated was important. If he could do nothing else…

Sawyer struggled a little at first, almost coughing into the mug, before Skinner muttered, "Easy… take it easy, kid."

With that, Sawyer's other boot reasserted itself on the ground, firmly, with a dull thud, and the spy started to drink normally, though thirstily, and Skinner found himself wondering when it had been that the young man had last drank anything. He was obviously dehydrated, from the way he greedily tried to gulp it down.

"Whoa, take it slowly, Sawyer, or you'll choke yourself… slower… that's it," Skinner advised, lowering and removing the mug when he realised the spy had had about as much as he could take. He coughed a little, and shook his head, wincing once again, before taking a few deep breaths.

"Thanks," he managed to rasp out after a moment, and Skinner searched around for a towel or something… something that M wouldn't miss. Not only did he need to dry away the evidence of aid from Sawyer's mouth and chin, but he needed to get rid of the blasted industrial smoke that had infuriatingly – and stubbornly – clung to him like a magnet.

"Don't mention it, kid," Skinner said without really thinking about it, moving over to the other side of the room, where he could see an already grubby towel, it seemed, picking it up in his hand after placing down the mostly empty mug. There was only an inch or two of water left in the bottom, if that.

"Don't call me that," Sawyer said with a light laugh, and when Skinner looked back, he saw the gentle smile that the American had managed to force onto his face.

_Optimism at its best_, he thought, and moved back over to his friend, saying, "Sorry. Force o' habit."

Sawyer nodded slowly, taking in another deep breath, even as Skinner used the towel to get rid of the water around the spy's face, before using the cloth to rub frantically at his arms, chest and face, hopefully removing the visibility from his form.

"Smug git has gotta have a mirror around here some– aha!"

As the thief moved over to it, checking his frame for any evidence, and rubbing at such areas when it was revealed he had missed something, he kept one ear sharply tuned to listen out for any signs of approach.

"How long has he been gone?" Sawyer asked quietly, and Skinner could see the reflection of the restrained _League_ member in the mirror, experimentally tugging at one of the manacles, the chain rattling, but refusing to loosen.

"Not long… 'bout ten minutes, if that. I was waitin' outside…" Skinner trailed off, wondering whether or not he should add about his hearing what had happened not long ago. After a moment – though Sawyer couldn't see it – Skinner frowned, and decided to carefully say, "And I heard him… what he was doin' to you."

Sawyer looked towards the floating – and now grubby – towel, and fixed his eyes on the area for a moment, before lowering them again, though not really saying anything.

"Bastard really went to work on you, didn't he, k–… didn't he?"

"Yeah," Sawyer replied, though it was in a distracted, and rather muted manner that he did so. There was a silence, heavy and uncomfortable, for a few moments at least, before Sawyer lifted his head, resolute and determined, and said, "I know he's gonna keep it up as well, but…" He offered a somewhat unconvincing smile. "Like you said… the _League_ are probably on their way."

"That's right," Skinner agreed, though he wondered in his heart what was taking so long. Why hadn't the Nautilus caught up to them on the journey… what if M had been telling the truth about that 'explosive gift'? The _League_ might not be on their way after all… maybe it was up to _Skinner_ to get Sawyer out of this… he wasn't sure how to feel about that. He was suddenly thankful that Sawyer couldn't see his features at all. He wasn't sure what they were showing right now.

It probably wasn't reassuring, he knew that.

* * *

Captain Nemo watched the members of the _League_ – whose presence he had called for, as promised – arrive on the bridge, and glanced around, seeing his able-bodied crew ready to fulfil whatever order he would give them. He knew, deep in his heart – as daunting but comforting as it was sometimes – that they would willingly gives their lives if he desperately required it. Mr. Quatermain was the first to arrive, thumbs hooked in the sides of his leathery waistcoat, pensive yet somewhat lighter in mood than when the Indian had last seen him. What had changed about the man? Ah, but then he realised, as he recalled passing his room dedicated to the many deities of his religion and culture, he had noticed the single candle, and the rifle set at Kali's base. He knew who had done it, laid out these objects in memory of poor Agent Sawyer, and he eyed Mina Harker with a new light as she strode gracefully in with Dr. Jekyll in tow. He noted her grace but air of sorrow, yet she carried herself with an undeniable dignity.

The two doctors – for Nemo supposed one could call Mrs. Harker a doctor in some sense, being a chemist – took it upon themselves to stand near the mapping table, whilst Quatermain came up into the centre of the bridge, alongside the captain himself. They all exchanged glances for a moment, extended though it was, before the hunter took the mantle as leader once again, and declared proudly, "Good work. All of you." His eyes lowered a little as he said this, almost as though he wished to rethink his wording. "I know we all took a blow in Venice… but we've pulled through this obstacle together. With teamwork. Now… shall we?" He cocked his head slightly, and lifted a brow. Mrs. Harker and Dr. Jekyll nodded firmly, and Quatermain turned his head to regard Nemo. "Captain?"

Nemo nodded as well, smiling just slightly behind his moustache and beard, and then called out to the entirety of the bridge, turning as he did so, "All ahead… full!"

The ship's telegraph rang in a shrill manner as it was tugged and pushed to the correct position to signal down to the engine rooms, and before long, the tip of the Nautilus shoved upward out of the waves as the powerful submarine kicked back into life, surging forward through the ocean, and back on course. Nemo turned his eyes back on his companions, and said, "I hope you will all join me for dinner this evening. We have much to discuss in preparation for our arrival at Skinner's headings."

"Of course, Captain," Jekyll conceded willingly, and Mrs. Harker nodded in confirmation at his side. Quatermain signalled he would attend, and the four soon after descended into silence, a _League_ whittled down, but far from defeated.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	9. Bring You Down

**Author's Note:** This chapter is a little shorter, but hey? It's a chapter right? Written all in one go for a change, which was nice. Squeee! Why am I squeee-ing? No matter. Hope you 'enjoy' the update.

**BigMacAttack:** Tom angst does seem quite addictive. Thank you, and I hope you like this part.

**Marcus Lazarus:** You confused me with your name change, heh! Took me a moment to figure it out. Skinner's a good lifeline, in his own ways, as you can see.

**funyun** I have almost no restraint when it comes to angst, so it was probably quite a shock. Especially to me. How did I manage?! Heh.

**Angharad:** Thanks, and I hope you like this too.

**Sawyer Fan:** He would've died without water, especially with the torture. Gah. Not good. Not even _I'm_ that mean. Skinner may be a thief, but he thinks on his feet.

**Capt. Cow:** Olympics bore me, heh. Argh! Not the cherries!

**Sethoz:** #It was a murder, but not a crime!# Sorry, _Chicago_ moment. Ahem. Gah, you and that breadstick. Glad you loved it, and here's the next part.

**Funky In Fishnet:** Thank you for the compliment. Very comforting. M's trying to kill him… or M-muse, I should say. _::pokes M-muse::_ Oh, thank you for the comment about Skinner. Also very comforting. Skinner is third of my fave-list, so I'm glad I can pull him off.

**Acid:** Gah, updating! Updating! O.O

**Freedomfighter82:** Feeling okay now? O.o You went a tad nuts there.

**kingleby** Hehehehe, here's the update.

**wakingbear** I suck? O.o Um… I suck? Here's more… do I still suck?

And now for the new part of **Envenom…**

* * *

Dante was on his way to his room to refresh himself before checking with James in his offices, his pace brisk and precise, his mind blissfully set on his actions. He never gave in to mindless wandering of thought, and it had served him well in his years.

Of course, when he turned the corner, the last person he had expected to encounter was the immortal, Gray. They regarded each other for a long time, simply studying one another, as if for the first time, perhaps sizing each other up for a potential combat. Dante was confident he would get a few blows in before Gray would end him though, if it ever came to that. He wasn't deluded enough to think he could win, though. After all, Gray was _immortal_, and therefore impervious to defeat.

"Out for a stroll, Gray?" he asked gruffly, eyeing the man with curiosity. He hadn't seen the man out of his room much since their arrival. Though, he supposed, the amount of time they had spent on the Nautiloid trapped together was enough to make any man – immortal or no – seek privacy for a while.

"I was heading along to distract myself for a while," Gray commented in response, his light drawl almost lazy, though not quite so bored as normal. "I find my mind runs away with me when I have little to occupy my time with… and I'm not fond of that."

Dante's mind started to run, and he smiled just at the corner of his mouth. His brain snapped into focus, locking on the answer to the unasked question. "You're going to the boy."

Gray lifted his brows nonchalantly, and eyed his cuticles for a moment, twirling his cane idly in his other hand. "As a matter of fact… I was. I do believe the Professor would allow me the privilege. After all, I have no overpowering urge to… break every bone in his body, as another would." He eyed Dante knowingly, making the lieutenant chuckle lightly. "Care to join me?"

Dante hadn't been expecting that, and he ran a hand over his close-shaven head in consideration. It was a very tempting offer. So long as he kept from hurting the boy too much, James wouldn't mind, would he? Why would he? The boy was here for only one reason after all, and that was for this purpose. James hadn't even intended to capture the American, but hadn't quibbled with the fact when Dante had delivered him. What could it hurt?

"Very well. I accept your 'offer'," Dante replied with a sly smirk.

Dorian Gray smiled lightly, and led the way, the lieutenant not far behind him, their paces matching easily and swiftly, light but ready should anything happen. It wasn't that Dante expected anything to occur. James' fortress was nigh impenetrable, after all, and he was confident in that respect.

* * *

Skinner was in the process of trying to dispose of the towel when his expertly tuned ears caught onto the sound. Approaching footsteps that caused his heart to constrict madly for a moment, and his hands jerked with the thought that someone might catch him.

Sawyer caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and looked to Skinner immediately, asking the question with his slightly alarmed gaze. He knew something was wrong.

"Someone's comin'," Skinner whispered harshly, and with lack of anything else to do with it, he grabbed the fire poker, hooked the towel onto it, and thrust it into the very back of the flames. It ate the cloth immediately, gnawing and burning at it hungrily and greedily, and he lay the poker back where it had been, concealing himself in the corner for further – and far from eager – observation. He watched as Sawyer glanced to the door, face twisted into an expression of mild despair and consideration of his actions, before he relaxed as much of his body as possible, and feigned unconsciousness.

Skinner had to hand it to him; it was quite a clever idea. It might save M from hurting him too badly, after all. But then again, as his listened, Skinner furrowed his brow. That wasn't just one figure… it was _two_.

Was Dante coming back as well?

The door opened carefully, and two figures entered, as Skinner had expected. But what he had not counted on was Dorian being the first of the pair. With a single spin of his cane, he carried on in his entrance, permitting the rough lieutenant to enter as well. The door closed behind them. Skinner could see the less than subtle rise and fall of Sawyer's chest, and internally asked the young man to calm his breathing.

_Calm down… c'mon, calm down. They'll know._

* * *

Dorian cocked his head in idle thought, watching the figure hanging from the chains, and looked to his companion. Something wasn't quite right about the way Sawyer hung there, and Dorian studied his form again. He could see the bloodied shirt, the burns on the torso, and the matted hair at the side of the dropped head. Narrowing his eyes, he looked to Dante again.

The wan lighting in the room was provided mostly from the fire, and it played oddly around the room, casting eerie elongated shadows across the walls, like faces and dancing figures, gleefully expecting mischief. Dorian almost smiled, his face consumed by the gloom for a moment, from his place next to the lieutenant. Their twin gazes watched the rise and fall of the chest, before it settled on the immortal. He knew what was amiss about the positioning. Even as he watched carefully, the right foot shifted very slightly, almost an unnoticeable action, were it not for his experienced and keen eyes.

Smiling just slightly, he approached slowly, propping his cane beside an armchair to his right, and walked up to face the hanging figure at a reasonable distance, within reach, but far enough away should the boy wish to strike, for what little good it would do him.

Dante watched eagerly, almost quivering with anticipation, something that Dorian noted as over enthusiasm and cast aside.

Reaching out with his right hand slowly and steadily, he angled it to Sawyer's head, and carefully lay it down on the back of the skull, disturbing the hair.

Either he had startled the boy, or Sawyer had wanted to startle in return, but either way, he jerked noticeably, and thrashed upright with a slight yell. The chains rattled noisily, and Dorian withdrew his hand calmly, eyeing the surprised face as it turned in his direction. The panting asserted itself in Sawyer's frame, and his eyes blazed with anger.

"Gray," he growled, even as Dante stalked forward, representing the lion circling the wounded prey, singled out from the herd and prized for the kill. As to whether or not M did indeed plan to kill Sawyer was unknown to Dorian… and frankly, none of his concern. He cared very little what they did with the child, so long as he could have his odd moments to… what was the word? Gloat, perhaps? Not exactly what he was after, but it would suit his purposes.

"Hello, Agent Sawyer," he returned simply, almost kindly, save for the undertone of intent. He was not here to comfort… oh no. And he was aware that Sawyer had to know that. It was clear in his posture and expression. The boy expected more blows; more pain.

_Glutton for punishment_, Dorian thought to himself with a smile aimed at the agent, and sighed lightly.

"What're you doin' here?" Sawyer asked breathlessly, twisting his head to watch Dante nervously for a moment, though it was clear he tried to hide his anxiety about the lieutenant. He simply failed to keep it from the immortal that was all.

"Why, I came to see how you were… holding out," Dorian replied lazily, admiring the ring on his finger for a moment as if he had never before gazed upon it.

"You don't care, Gray," Sawyer retorted with indignation. "You never did. What do you _really_ want?"

Dante had paused slightly off to Sawyer's side, gazing at the bloodied patch almost keenly, but Dorian ignored him. "Well… use that vivid imagination of yours, Thomas, and you might answer your own question. I know for a fact that my friend here," he indicated Dante with a slight wave of the hand, "is quite eager to sate his urges. I, however, am not one for physical exertion."

It washed over Sawyer's face then, showing that he at least partially understood what the immortal meant by that. M would break the body, and Dorian would toy with the mind, as a cat would a mouse. He had always quite admired felines for their cunning and prowess.

"I see James removed the blade," Dante said slyly, practically a hiss, and Sawyer watched him, breath quickening. "I expect he did that whilst you were awake, boy, hmm?"

* * *

Tom couldn't keep his eyes on both Dorian and Dante at the same time, but for the moment was satisfied with them being firmly on the lieutenant, trying to figure out what it was he was building up to. It would be a strike, he knew, but of what kind… and where?

When Dante asked his question, Tom couldn't stop his retort, "You already know the answer to that."

Dante laughed, and carried on pacing around Tom, leaving him to stare at the suspicious figure of Dorian Gray, who simply watched, impassive and as infuriating in presence as he was in voice. He was up to something, Tom knew, but he couldn't put his finger on it, even as Dante struck.

The bare fisted blow landed to the lower left side of Tom's back, stealing a cry from him, and he threw his head back a little, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached, before rolling his head forward again, eyes closed for a moment, too swarmed in his own thoughts to even notice Dante's laugh.

"A man can only hold out so long," Dorian began. "He can only take so much… before the body simply gives up on him. The mind follows, but usually takes more before it snaps."

Tom listened, but only because he couldn't shut out the voice. If nothing else drove him mad, Dorian's talking would. He steeled himself for the next blow that he expected from Dante, which came at the back of his right knee, with a solid kick, and he merely gave a muffled sound of discomfort before easing the foot back to its position, ready for the next blow.

"It can take so much more abuse before it all just fades away… memories, happiness… optimism." Dorian's continuation was just as steady as his beginning, and Tom tried his best to ignore, knowing he was beginning his mental strike as Dante continued where M had left off.

Dante was still behind him, and Tom closed his eyes, knowing – _feeling_ – it was coming, even as Dorian pressed on.

"Piece by piece, you lose who you are."

Tom cried out as a shallow cut landed across his back. His fists clenched in their chains.

"The light will fade from your eyes."

Dante struck again, with another shout from Tom, though quieter.

"You forget the meaning and feel of a smile."

The third cut earned a groan and slight whimper from Tom, and he screwed his eyes shut, trying not to feel it as it washed over him.

"You cease to be who you were known as."

Dante stalked around in front of him, the very edge of his jagged dagger red with Tom's blood, and the agent opened his eyes to watch the lieutenant.

"You become a blank canvas, almost."

Dante pulled back a fist, and Tom braced himself, wincing ahead of time, almost angling his face away.

"… You die."

Tom screamed with all the air in his lungs as Dante's fist slammed against the puncture wound in his side, and by the time the cry had faded away, he had slipped from consciousness again.

**_To Be Continued…_**

**__**


	10. Bring Me To Life

**Author's Note:** I know it took me a stupidly long time, but I hope this – better late than never – update sates you long enough for me to write the next part, 'eh?

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**Sawyer Fan:** Hard to read? Um… I'll take that as a good thing, since I was going for a kind of brutal thing with Dante. It's the impression I got from him. Glad you liked Dorian's words and found them chilling. It's what I was trying for, so it seems I pulled it off for you at least. Oh, the person who said I sucked – I think – just meant that I'd ended it there, and they wanted more XD They're an old reader. Oh, cool, author alert. Thanks! Ooh, next chapter! You have to update your cool story! O.O

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**DiabloCat:** Hehehehe, I'm happy you seem to be enjoying it. I can get a bit over-excited with my descriptions, so I'm glad that doesn't kill the effect for you. How… how do I know so much? Um… writing experience? I am THE BITCH to my characters… o.O I am insanely cruel when I want to be, but… should I be scared to know so much? Am I scaring YOU? If so, sorry, aheh.

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**angel-flame** Eeep, are you sure you want to charge in there? You've got M – ah yes, the cold… rather discouraging, huh? Hehehehe, yes, GO, LEAGUE, GO! O.O They will get there, soon, I promise.

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**Marcus Lazarus: **Eh, no real confusion, since you'd spoken to me regarding the name before anyway. I was just being blonde XD Can't leave the annoying Gray out, can I? He's gotta have his 'screen time', as it were. And I agree with you on the painful, slow death, and being condemned to hell. Indeed. Here's your update! XD

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**Funky In Fishnet:** Thanks for the compliment, as you put it. I _always_ toy with my characters. They're the mice, and I'm the cat, as it were o.O I'm just plain ol' mean. Dante is indeed grotesque _smacks Dante… and Dorian while she's at it::_

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**freedomfigher82:** Eeep… you're gonna kill either the Shift button or the Caps Lock on your keyboard, y'know? And if you keep shouting, I'll go deaf, and won't be able to listen to inspirational music… sense the pattern? XD

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**funyun** Hehehehe, I did indeed make up for it. Hope it's nicely balanced in this one. I have a wide variety of POVs in this one, actually. Thought I'd broaden it out, as it were. Taunt then hit… yeah, I wanted that pattern. It just seemed to flow nicely, and obviously, it wasn't very nice for poor Tom. He learned to brace though, which is what I wanted him to do. Glad you like the way I write Dante. Since he's pretty much mute and un-featured (at least not very much) in the film, I had to 'wing it'. Thanks.

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**Angharad:** Dorian's a classy villain? Cool. And yes, he seems the kind to enjoy mind games, hence his taunting. Thanks. Here's the update.

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**tonianne**You really liked chapter nine? Cool. Happy to hear that. And Tom needs to be saved, yes… whether by the LXG or himself, it doesn't matter. Saving would be nice for him, I agree. No more waiting – here it is!

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**kingleby** Dorian deserved that XD The idea of Dorian torturing the mind is not actually originally my idea. It came from the same place as this story arc really, so you all know who to thank for that bit. Or if you don't, here's a clue… SETHOZ! XD She did the same kind of thing… cuz she's great, aheh. Glad you liked my scene all the same, and thank you anyway. And no, in my stories, Tom doesn't get much of a break.

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**Nimmo Sawyer:** Did you change your name? You were Nimmo **Gray** before o.O Did I put you off him? XD How much more? Well… not telling. You'll have to – brace yourselves – wait and see. M will ultimately suffer for it; if not at the end of the story, then in hell when he dies.

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**willowscribe03:** Thank you. Awesome is a bit frivolous, but thank you anyway, aheh. Here's the update that you assumed would be uber cool. Hope it satisfies.

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**BloodMoonLycan:** You can hate them both the same _nods wisely::_ That's what I do. Thank you, dear buddy; your compliments are much appreciated. :)

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**Sethoz:** Hehehehe, cool new term. Creepy-tacular. I like it. I'm so very glad you liked Dorian's speech, since BPWP inspired it (along with the whole fic), and Dante is indeed just plain mean. I have an idea for M… heh. Hope you like THAT when it comes to it. Ah yes, THAT chapter, where it all comes clear o.O Soon, my friend, soon.

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**Drakena the Destroyer:** I would hug him as well. Unfortunately, that would probably kill him right now, but I'm sure he appreciates the thought.

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**Leigh S. Durron/SiddyQ:** You're getting very fond of that nickname, heh. Descriptions… I just go nuts O.o Heh. No more waiting – here's the update.

And now, without further delay, here is Part Ten (whoa) of **Envenom…**

* * *

Skinner winced madly as Tom cried out in agony, and felt his fists clench tightly at his sides, and he knew that if he'd had fingernails, the force with which he'd been squeezing them would have cut into his palms and probably made them bleed. His teeth gritted together as his jaw set in anger. Dorian and Dante were being savage and ruthless to Sawyer, and the thief's cold gaze pierced through the shadows in which he had concealed himself to burn into the immortal's back. If he hadn't worried about Sawyer's 'safety' – not that he was safe at all here – he would have charged out and attacked the bastard right then.

But doing such a blindly rash thing would get the American into more trouble than was worth the satisfaction of even _trying_ to hurt Gray, he knew. He had another person to think about here; he couldn't be selfish, no matter how many years he had spent being just that. Those days had to be over now, he knew. It was time for a change, and he looked forward to getting something other than cold hard cash out of helping someone he had come to view as a friend.

Skinner didn't want to watch anymore as Dante paced around the spy, but when the lieutenant rammed a fist into Sawyer's side, and the American passed out, he was relieved of having to try and find a way out without being seen. He let out a sigh, neither relieved nor satisfied, and only hoped Sawyer could find some peace in unconsciousness.

_At least the kid gets a break every now and then_, he thought, and then frowned with a slight sneer. _But does it have to be by being knocked senseless? Goddamn animals…_ Skinner nearly growled, and then remembered Dante and Dorian had not left yet. Revealing himself now would be disastrous. Dorian's 'experience' would no doubt help him track down a trapped invisible man. After all, there was only one way to the closed door, and that was past the both of them, and he didn't fancy his chances if they were already aware of his presence.

"Well, that was short-lived," Gray drawled, and even _yawned_, glancing nonchalantly to the hanging form once again with a light sigh as he melodramatically strode over to the chair and retrieved his cane.

Dante turned to him, still tensed visibly, and said, "We needn't leave, you and I. There's still fun to be had here, Gray."

Skinner physically recoiled at that, and his face twisted into an expression of disgust and horror at Dante's twisted idea of 'fun'. He meant to continue harming Sawyer when the kid was out cold? Skinner's fists clenched tightly again, and he had a burning, mad desire to grab the heaviest, bluntest object he could find and slam it into the lieutenant's skull again and again and again.

Dorian, however, whilst not looking disgusted, didn't seem appealed at least. That was some small relief to Skinner, and he watched the immortal admire his cane as he sighed out, "No, thank you… I'd rather return to my room. There's just something about a conscious mind to abuse that is much more rewarding than a limp body." He eyed Dante almost critically, and said in farewell, "Do enjoy your silent fun, though." And with that, he turned and retreated from the room.

Skinner furrowed his brow, and looked back at the scheming Dante. He couldn't watch this… there was only so much of simply _watching_ he could take. He didn't know how Sawyer could bear it. He was stronger than the thief had thought.

So it was that he sidled his way stealthily to the door that had been left slightly ajar, and prized it open as if blown on a natural and cool breeze, turning back to see that the lieutenant was too busy cleaning his blade to notice, and then slipped out silently.

He had no trouble finding Dorian again on the way out. The immortal was travelling at an idle, leisurely pace, and Skinner settled himself into discreetly following him. After all, there was still much to discover of this vast fortress, and when the _League _arrived in a couple of days – or so he estimated – he wanted to have as much knowledge of their battlefield as possible.

* * *

Allan paced, and were it not for their being submerged now that they were entering cooler territory, he had no doubt he would have been shooting up on the conning tower, letting off some stress and venting somehow… anything to get his mind off the ordeal they had been through. Not that it was over, of course, but their tragedy was still behind them. He had grieved appropriately, he felt, and leaving that small monument had helped to take some of the weight off his shoulders.

But there was one thing he couldn't help but think, over and over again.

_If only I had stayed in the car…_

It didn't do to dwell on things that could not be changed, he knew. It was best to look forward, not back.

He smiled then, without really meaning to. The young man had rubbed off on him in his optimism and enthusiasm, it seemed. And he was comforted by that fact. It somehow made it seem that young Sawyer was not truly dead. He had heard that phrase somewhere before, though he could not for the life of him recall where.

'Those who die are never truly dead, so long as we remember them.'

It was oddly fitting, and he took relief in that small and simple yet poignant sentence. He smiled wanly, and decided he might as well avoid wearing a hole in his carpet, and see how the others were coping with the dragging wait as they approached the Straits of Tartary.

* * *

Henry tapped his pen against the inkpot, and looked deeply pensive for a moment, taking care not to let it drip on the page as he tried to think of what to write. He had been trying for a long time now to catalogue all that happened, ever since he had truly comprehended what it was that Edward was doing, it seemed. He had tried to make it a habit, but though it was only a simple journal, he simply was not much of a writer. Give him a medical report any day, and he could write for long periods of time, the words of description and explanation and science simply flowing from his pen, and more than once, he had had to redo some of the words when he'd realised he was out of ink. His mind ran away with him when engrossed in work.

But now, as he sat in the small medical office to the rear of the Nautilus' infirmary, he simply could not get any normal, human thoughts out of the nib of the pen onto the page. They were stubborn, and did not want to flow.

"Oh, forget it," he muttered with a sigh of defeat as he set down the plain bound book, and replaced the pen and ink to their usual positions. He had been given the office for his time aboard the submersible, and he truly appreciated the consideration from Nemo, though he had hoped upon joining that he would never have to truly use it.

All around him were reports – and completed ones at that – on the varying conditions of those who had been injured both in the incident in Venice, and the recent bombings. He slouched slightly in his chair, not a habit he had grown accustomed to, and furrowed his neat brow in consideration. What to do now? The patients had all had the appropriate medications and bandage rotations, with the help of Mrs. Harker and Nemo's own medics, and he had – as previously mentioned – finished the paperwork he always felt it a necessity to do.

Just as he was about to unnecessarily get up and step out into the infirmary to check on the bedridden men, Quatermain rapped on the open door with his knuckles, poking his head in, in a silent inquiry as to whether he could enter.

"Oh, by all means," Henry permitted, and waved a hand at the chair opposite him. "Tea? Some of Nemo's men – polite as they are, always thoughtful – just brought a fresh pot if you'd like a cup."

"Oh, thank you," Quatermain acknowledged, and he nodded upon taking a seat.

Henry made about pouring the hunter a cup, as he asked, "What brings you down here, if I might ask? It seems a rather… spontaneous visit, if you ask me." He smiled pleasantly, and offered the cup.

Quatermain took it and set it down in front of him. "Oh, I don't know," he replied absent-mindedly. "I just thought I'd take a stroll about. I've never really taken the time to idly wander, as it were. Thought I would, whilst we're travelling and there's nothing pressing at hand."

Henry nodded. "I see." Then he looked a little grave and thoughtful, even hesitant, and he knitted his hands on the desktop, before plucking up the courage necessary to inquire, "I hope you don't mind me asking this, Mr. Quatermain, but… how _are_ you?"

Quatermain looked distant for a moment, before he sipped experimentally from the cup, and said, "Better, thank you. There's a time for grieving, and so long as it doesn't make me sound uncaring, I have to say… that time seems to be over for me now. Don't get me wrong, I was very fond of Sawyer, but he went down fighting." A whimsical smile crossed his face, but it was coloured with sadness.

"Mr. Quatermain? Is there something on your mind?"

_"Since when are **you** a psychiatrist, Henry?"_ Edward sneered in his mind, cynically, but he was ignored rather pointedly for a change.

The hunter looked deeply thoughtful, and then eyed the doctor for a moment, smiling just briefly as he said, "I've always had a belief, as to tigers, actually, but I suppose it was always a way to relate to myself."

Henry arched a brow, a silent encouragement for continuation.

"_Old tigers sensing the end are at their most fierce_," Quatermain divulged in a nostalgic manner. "_And they go down fighting_." He smiled wanly at Henry.

_Now I get it… he's trying to relate that to Agent Sawyer._

_"Well **obviously**."_

"And you're not quite comfortable saying that about Agent Sawyer… are you?"

"Well, no," Quatermain admitted, with a shake of the head. "He wasn't old, and though he might have sensed the end, he… I don't know. Maybe I'm just looking into it too much." He attempted another smile, and for the most part – probably from years of experience – pulled it off.

Henry returned it as much as he could, and sighed lightly. More out of habit than anything else, he pulled his delicate and glinting pocket watch from its place, and opened the face. He lifted his brows a little. "If I'm not mistaken, Nemo sets out the dining room at about this time. Do you think we should perhaps make our way there?"

"You're right," Quatermain agreed, and finished his tea. He stood from his chair, knowing Nemo's men would come to clear the room at the first opportunity, but Henry still politely stacked them together for convenience. The two men left the room together after that, and on the way through the infirmary, Henry instinctively – and perhaps without realising – let his eyes wander to the patients, briefly checking their conditions. All seemed well, and with that, he donned his jacket, neatened his waistcoat, and left for the dining room with Quatermain.

* * *

Mina Harker was the last to enter the dining room, and she strode through the double doors with the same flourish with which she had first appeared to Nemo and Quatermain. She brought her head up from contemplation as she entered, and met their gazes with her own. She nodded her acknowledgement of meeting, and walked quietly to her seat, murmurings of greeting and her own heels making the only sounds other than Jekyll's teacup as it hit the saucer again. She smiled at the doctor wanly, and sat down, taking a deep breath, and wondering whether her appetite was up to much this evening.

She, Nemo, Jekyll and Quatermain were the only occupants at the grand table set out with a wide variety of – what would obviously be wasted – food, and she sighed sorrowfully.

_I need to let go. What has happened, happened for a reason._ Had she believed in the being properly, she might have said the old cliché 'God works in mysterious ways'.

There were three obviously empty seats… not that the _League_ had ever collectively gathered for meals before the trio had been lost. Not that Skinner was, as she put it, 'lost', in any way other than his being in Mongolia somewhere, according to his headings. Dorian had betrayed them, and… she was trying to forget the other loss.

So far, clearly, she wasn't doing very well. That was evident simply in the way she sat there, obviously deep in thought. She tried to hide it, but she knew the men could tell. They weren't stupid, as much as she wished they were at that very moment. Sighing lightly, she glanced at the foods around the table, trying to find something that would be light on the stomach.

Jekyll offered her some sort of rice with some vegetables, and she accepted it gratefully, nodding her head in a manner that showed the doctor she appreciated the thought. He smiled and nodded; 'you're welcome'.

Without saying much at all, if anything, the remaining members of the _League_ settled into their meal.

* * *

His brain screamed at him to wake up, and something told him he hadn't been unconscious long at all. There was simply an odd awareness that insisted he needed to wake up, and now. If he didn't, something terrible would happen. It was actually rather unsettling, the feeling, and so it was that he stirred almost reluctantly, and forced his eyes to open, as much of a strain as that was.

What he saw caused his eyes to open properly, noticing Dante was still in the room, and eyeing his wicked dagger almost affectionately. What the hell was he doing? Tom had passed out; shouldn't he have left – as it seemed Dorian had – whilst he was unconscious? That seemed to be the pattern, as understandable – while no more favourable – as it was. There wasn't much to do with him whilst he was out cold.

Dante seemed to have other ideas. Tom's fists clenched up in their manacles, and he pulled in a deep breath, as much as it ached to do so. He had to do something, or he'd end up with either more wounds than he'd collectively be able to stand, or another dangerous one like in his side. Neither was preferable.

Gritting his teeth and setting his jaw in what he hoped was defiance, he firmly planted his feet, and glanced upward. The lieutenant had yet to notice his consciousness. Good. The last thing he wanted was for Dante to notice what his mind was hastily concocting.

_They'll support my weight… but then again, if they don't, that's even better. And what's a little abused and wasted strength and the risk of pain when I get that bastard away from me?_ With that running through his mind, Tom glanced back to Dante again, mind made up, just as the lieutenant turned to him, surprised to see his 'victim' awake.

"That didn't take long," he grumbled with a meaningful glint in his dark eyes. He brandished the weapon, and made to pace closer.

_Just a little more… a little more.__ C'mon… there!_

With a slight growl, and thinking that he probably shouldn't be doing it, he hopped up, grabbed the chains with his hands as tightly as he could, and with a yell, swung his boots forward, slamming them powerfully and squarely into Dorian's broad chest. With a grunt, the man was thrown forcefully back, and into a table behind him. He subsequently flew _over_ it, taking it with him, and the dagger clattered to the floor.

Even as Tom dangled his feet in the air, disbelieving as to the strike, there was a loud metallic groan and creak from above, even the beginnings of a snap. Tom's eyes widened, and looking up, he saw the weakness beginning in the chain links. His jaw dropped slightly, and then his mind snapped into focus with only a brief glance at the badly stunned Dante. Feet still hanging – where the strength came from, he didn't know, nor did he dispute it – and with intent in his gaze, Tom started to tug down and apply odd amounts of pressure on the chains that held him up.

Screwing his eyes shut and giving a determined shout, he gave one final tug, and with a crack and a ring, the chains gave. He only just supported himself on the ground as they fell, and stumbled badly, panting for breath now that his exertion had paid off. His wide eyes cast over to Dante again, and he whimpered for a moment, still at a loss as to how his luck had finally caught up with him.

_Don't fight it, Sawyer, you idiot, **run!**_

So he did. Ensuring he didn't trip on the chains that still hung from his arms, still manacled about his bruised wrists, he turned to the door, tore it open, and with only a brief gaze to check each corridor, made off blindly down one. He was determined to knock down anyone who got in his way, and he hoped his adrenaline was with him until he – somehow – made it out of the fortress.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	11. One Step Closer

**Author's Note:** Yes, yes, this one's quite short, but I wanted to give you an update no matter what. I debated adding more on, but I liked how the chapter went without the forced addition, so… don't hurt me?

**funyun** The seat of his pants! Hehehehe, am I said for remembering Shane West saying that about Norrington in the DVD commentary? Ahem, yes I am, but proud of it. And hey, he was suffering… I'd wanna get out any way I could too… poor guy. Dante is an amazingly, scarily sick guy, just like you said, yes. Git. I hate him. I like the thoughts you're relaying about destiny. Maybe that is what woke Sawyer up, but maybe it isn't. Guess we'll never find out, not that I suppose _he_ minds, so long as he didn't wake up… other than he did. The side remark hyphens? Um… I do those all the time o.O I do them a heck of a lot, in fact. Sorry if they're annoying you, but they've been there a while XD

**Scifirogue-klutz:** Indeed I have kept going. Couldn't leave you there, could I? That would've been mean, not that I'm anything but… but I have to draw the line somewhere, don't I? Glad you liked the insights. I do enjoy doing those every now and then to help the flow going. Ack! Flying monkeys! O.O

**Sawyer Fan:** Thanks for all the compliments and comments. Glad you liked the feelings I showed from Skinner and Quatermain. And yes indeed, Tom is free. But for how long? XD About the suffering and experiencing… really? Wow. Thanks! That's quite high praise, and I'm actually blushing a little now, aheh. Thanks! I made your night? Well, thanks, and I hope I can do it again.

**freedomfigher82:** Tom can only run so fast with the injuries he's acquired, but he's trying. Ah, good, people are feeling bad for Skinner. I was kinda hoping for that. Poor guy can't really do much; sigh. I appreciate the review, and the lengths you went to in order to give it to me. Thanks!

**Capt. Cow:** Tom's running! Watch him run! O.O Becky's a bit far away… a few thousand miles in fact. Oh well… worth a shot, heh. Here's the more you asked for.

**queerquail** Bunny wabbit… hehehehe. You make me laugh XD You like the word maniac? Aheh, cool. No need to hint anymore… here's the update.

**LotRseer3350:** I'm sensing a running theme in these reviews… something along the lines of "RUN TOM!" Wonder why XD Ask questions no more, for here is the update.

**BloodMoonLycan:** Dru! Getting into the angst are we? XD Heh. Knew you'd cross over to the dark sooner or later. Glad to have you with us! Mwahahaha!

**Nimmo Sawyer:** Cool name change anyway, regardless of how long you keep it. He needs all the support he can get, aheh. Yeah, that was a mistake… dammit. I corrected it in the main file, but I'm lazy and can't be bothered to go back in the story – so sue me. Sigh. I probably should, but I think you're the only one who noticed it. Sorry, aheh. Glad you liked the last chapter, and hope you enjoy this one too.

**kingleby** Jail break! XD Mwahahaha, Dante deserved that. Git…

**Funky In Fishnet:** Go Tom indeed! Booyah! Easy? What's that mean? XD Skinner had to have had a change of heart somewhere along the line, so I thought I'd show it. I've kept it up; here's the update.

**Sethoz:** Uh oh… she's twitching. She's gonna blow! O.O Which chapter are you waiting for? I… am confused. Am I missing something, or are you just waiting for Tom to get caught again? o.O Wouldn't surprise me XD Happy now? I've updated! Update your stories too! O.O

**DiabloCat:** Freedom! Climax? Ooh, not yet. Got more up my sleeve… mwahahaha. Well, at least I scare you a _little_, anyway. It's better than nothing. Enjoy the update!

**denna5:** Welcome to the story! Or the reviewing circle… or whatever. Heh. Me? Ramble? Never! XD Glad you're liking it so far. Thanks, regarding the characters. I try my best. Here's the update for you.

And now, for Part Eleven of **Envenom…**

* * *

It seemed the cocky immortal hadn't detected him yet, and he thanked his experience for hiding him from Gray. He knew just how to sneak and where, to avoid being heard or seen, as ironic as that would have been right then. The invisible man, being spotted in shadowing another man… it didn't strike him as funny either. The consequences of being caught were too high and he didn't fancy his chances in a fight with Gray.

Skinner tried to figure out whereabouts in the fortress they were now, and he figured they were in the centre of the building somewhere, but his internal mapping was… awful, for some reason, despite his ability at being able to find his way around London without hesitation.

_But I lived there most of my life. Why **wouldn't** I know my way around?_

His idle musings almost made him miss the slight sound that travelled to his ears from around the corner.

_Is that… no… it can't be._ His brow furrowed heavily in confusion, and even fear, and he trained his ears on the sound, trying to decipher it properly, but when the identity lodged itself in the thief's brain, his heart nearly leapt into his throat.

* * *

Tom glanced over his shoulder hurriedly, stumbling once, but not by catching the chains. His legs were protesting at the pacing he had applied to his flight, and he panted in apparent exhaustion, but one thing still ran over and over in his mind that only made him want to run harder, faster and longer.

He was lost.

He had been unconscious upon entering this place, and as a result, didn't know how the hell to get _out_. And that frightened him. The thought that he might not be able to get away without being seen again made him shake for a moment, and he nearly ran straight into a guard whilst he was checking over his shoulder.

The man blinked in surprise, and the two regarded one another in a daze for a moment, one clad in armour and carrying a weapon, and the other caked in dirt and blood with chains hanging from his arms.

"What…" the man was beginning to mumble, before Tom struck out madly, slamming a fist right into the unguarded face, and ploughing him backwards whilst suppressing the yell that wanted to escape his lips at the force. His limb shook after the use, and the man slumped to the ground with a bloody nose. Tom stared down at him, wide eyed, before leaping over him as best he could, and continuing in his retreat.

_C'mon, just a little further… there has to be–_

He gave a yell without meaning to, and unintentionally cowered away for a moment, ducking his hands over his head as he realised who he had all but collided with. But after a moment, he lifted his head, and looked to the man.

Dorian Gray looked quite pleased actually… and Tom wanted to break his neck.

* * *

"Ah… Agent Sawyer. How lovely. Taking yourself out for a walk, I see." Dorian smiled, pushing down the grin he rarely ever allowed himself, and chuckled quietly. "Though I have to say, I _am_ surprised. Whatever happened to Lieutenant Dante?"

Sawyer did not respond, simply panted heavily, and Dorian offered him a faux sympathetic smile. "Did you really think you could escape this place?" When there was no immediate reply, Dorian tutted quietly. "How very naïve and overly-optimistic of you. Are all Americans the same?"

"Gray," Sawyer breathed, shaking his head. "What are you doing?"

Dorian glanced nonchalantly over his shoulder, and shrugged slightly, looking back into the somewhat dull gaze of the spy. "I seem to be blocking your path, I believe." He smiled slyly. He twirled his cane slowly, perhaps in a mocking threat, knowing the boy was no danger to him, especially not in this condition, and added, "And what exactly are you planning to do now… _boy_?"

Sawyer visibly bristled at that, and Dorian imagined, if he'd had hackles, they would have stood on end. That thought only amused him further and he cocked his head almost chidingly. "You really are quite foolish, Sawyer. The Professor has hundreds of men in his employ, and whilst my part in this bargain is done, and I really have no interest in whether or not you run out into the cold wastelands of Mongolia and freeze to death… I have to admit, watching these men take you back into custody will be rather refreshing for a bored gentleman such as myself."

Sawyer seemed only then to hear the pair of men who had entered the scene at the end of the corridor behind him, and his breath quickened visibly. "Gray…" he began, and his tone of voice was like a slap to the face for Dorian, who cocked his head the other way.

"Really," he drawled. "You are pleading to _my_ humanity?" He laughed quietly, and then his face became very sombre. "You should know better by now, young Sawyer."

* * *

Tom looked again to the men over his shoulder, and swallowed the lump in his throat. This looked… bad. It looked beyond bad, but his brain was working in overdrive to try and think of a way out… and that was when he saw it. Something was rising off a table behind Gray. A large vase seemed to have a life of its own, and Tom's eyes widened just a fraction.

Skinner.

Tom would have been all for letting Skinner smash the thing over Gray's head, if it hadn't been for the slowly advancing guards from behind. The men would take advantage of Skinner's revealing himself, and if they didn't shoot him, they'd capture him eventually. Tom needed for Skinner to keep himself hidden, so he very discreetly shook his head side to side, looking just over Dorian's left shoulder, where he imagined the thief's head would be, hoping he understood.

* * *

Skinner froze… and very slowly, lowered the vase back to its place. He felt awful for heeding Tom's warning, letting the young agent be recaptured, but he understood why the American had signalled him to stop. Revealing himself would be ridding Tom of his one advantage, and that was something that Skinner could not bring himself to do.

No matter how satisfying shattering the thing over Dorian's fat head would have been.

Sighing lightly, Skinner closed his eyes, and leaned back into the wall slightly, careful not to disturb any tapestries there. His face was turned away; he didn't want to watch.

* * *

M walked back into his chamber, and froze at once. When the opened door had confused him, he had picked up his pace slightly, and what he saw upon entering fully made him curse. Dante was picking himself up from under an overturned table, and growling to himself, and Sawyer was gone. The chains had given way.

"Damn him," Dante hissed as he stood to his full height, practically seething with rage, and he gritted his teeth visibly. M watched him, and then grumbled loudly.

"I don't care what happened. He can't have gotten far. Come on." Stopping only to grab a pistol from the desk just inside the door, M jogged off with Dante to find the escaped spy. Like he had said, he couldn't have gotten far… he could only go so fast, and in a place he didn't know. What danger was there of him escaping?

* * *

Dorian watched with mirth as the men came up behind Sawyer, and grabbed one of his arms each. Sawyer, naturally, resisted, but the men was far from gentle, and had a rough but firm grip on him in seconds. Dorian smiled lightly, hearing the jogging approaching. He recognised the footfalls of one certain lieutenant, who would no doubt be angry with whatever Sawyer had done to escape in the first place.

The Professor and Dante came around the corner then, just as one of the men grabbed the back of Sawyer's hair and yanked it back to angle his head upward, even as M came up alongside the captured spy.

"What _am_ I going to do with you?" he muttered irritably, looking down on him scathingly. Sawyer's knees had buckled slightly from the downward pressure on his body from the men holding him, and he glared almost defiantly up at M without saying a word. "You should know by now, that it is men like _us_ that will always get what they want, boy… whereas, people like you… just fade away, out of memory. Just like you will, when I'm done with you."

To Dorian's surprise, Sawyer spat on M then, and the immortal actually arched a brow in respect of the foolish bravery the young American displayed. He smiled, watching with controlled intrigue as M slammed the back of his hand across the younger man's face, snapping his head to the side and out of the grip of the guard. A pistol came up to aim at Sawyer's chest then, and M smirked, even as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned away the mess.

Dante was beside Sawyer almost eagerly, brandishing the dagger he seemed so queerly fond of, and eyeing the spy murderously. He was breathing raggedly through his clenched teeth, and his whole posture screamed permission to maim.

The pained eyes rose from their lowered position, ignoring Dante completely, and met the gaze of M, who stared back fiercely.

"Has it not occurred to you yet, boy?"

Sawyer continued to stare, and Dorian paced a little closer, curious as to this new twist.

"If, by some miracle, they survived the bombs planted on that stupid vessel… what makes you think the _League_ are coming for you?" The beginnings of a smile started on M's face, and Dante was mirroring it eerily. Sawyer didn't seem to comprehend, and simply waited.

M pushed forward the hammer on the gun, and strode towards his captive, saying sinisterly, "Dante found you beside a destroyed theatre… inside of which was a destroyed _machine_ that you drove haphazardly _into_ said theatre." He grinned openly, and brought the gun up into the light. Sawyer's own Colt pistol reflected the wan light merrily, casting it out in shards in random directions to create a momentary spectrum.

Sawyer seemed to realise then, what it was M was saying, and he drew his head back a little way. "No… they don't think that."

"Well, I doubt they think anything, being dead and all…" M teased mercilessly, looking Sawyer up and down as if in inspection. "But before they died, they no doubt thought you had met a similar fate. After all, what reason did they have to think otherwise?"

Sawyer started to struggle then, but the men holding him were too strong, whereas he had lost blood, and was far from perfectly healthy. He cried out as they gripped him awkwardly, and M laughed. Dante merely grinned, and Dorian watched with a pensive expression making his handsome features appear almost docile; harmless even.

"Dante," M said simply, and nodded his head at Sawyer in signal. The lieutenant muttered an affirmative, and indicated that the guards follow him with the struggling agent. Dorian and the Professor watched them move away, and the immortal narrowed his eyes.

Why was Sawyer so perturbed by the idea? Hadn't he thought of it before, for himself?

Maybe he truly was as foolishly optimistic as he had always seemed…

Dorian sighed, and found himself almost pitying the American.

Almost.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	12. Suffer

**Author's Note:** Sorry this took me so long… I really am. But you don't care about that, so here we go.

**Drakena: **Everyone – at least the villains – is a jerk. And they will all pay… growl.

**Sawyer Fan:** Apparently, I just keep making your night. Heh. If only a boulder the size of the moon _would_ fall on Dorian – I'd laugh myself silly. Hehehehe, complain no more. Here's… more o.O

**DiabloCat:** Of course I'm mean. I'm an angst writer. Co-founder of the Angst Addicts Anonymous don't'cha know.

**kingleby** Tom's the kinda guy who would get caught and just _do_ that, y'know? Spit on him, that is. Jerk deserved it, and I wasn't going to have Tom do it originally… then it just wrote itself. Weird. Tom is so deeply ground into my mind… it's a little scary :) And wouldn't we _all_ want to smash a vase over Dorian's head if we got the chance? XD

**Funky In Fishnet:** Ouch indeed. I am indeed a cruel writer. I defer you to the comment I gave **DiabloCat**. Thanks, and here's more.

**Leigh S. Durron:** Poor, poor Tom. I'm so _mean_ to him. And, sadly, I'm not done yet…

**Angharad:** Indeed, indeed. Poor Tom. M and Dante… I've made them so despised. Excellent. Thanks for the compliment regarding that Dorian ender. Thanks about the art work too! Glad you like it :)

**queerquail** There is no word befitting a git like Dorian, at least not in any language _I_ know. How could I let them get Tom? Because it fits the story? Cuz it furthers the plot? Cuz I'm co-founder of the AAA? Cuz I'm just plain old mean…? XD You decide.

**BloodMoonLycan:** I saw those pages! XD Angst is a tad addictive when you catch it right, I've found… hence… these stories, heh. O.o Hehehehe, in two minds about this much? You want them to get there, but you don't… XD Thanks! Here's s'more!

**Sethoz:** I know exactly what you mean, cuz I went through it with The Bodyguard and Black Pawn, White Pawn. o.O Maybe that's where I got it from, heh. A Knight's Tale! Yay-ness! Isn't Wat/Wot (never sure how to spell it) the best? Gah, another Striker quote. I fear you have become addicted to the terrible-cockney… O.O

**Capt. Cow:** It wasn't that he didn't run fast enough… more in the wrong direction o.O And I wouldn't say _Becky_… aheh XD

* * *

Mina Harker stood in the mapping room with the men, her patience wearing thin, until Nemo pointed a finger down at the paper below him, indicating a narrow path they seemed to be taking.

"We have entered the Straits of Tartary, but due to the ice all around and below us, we must proceed with caution. At the most, another two days lies ahead of us before we can cease in our journey, and make to rendezvous with Mr. Skinner," he told them all gravely, his face a mask of seriousness. He traced his finger down the line he had already placed on the map, showing them their route. "It is a winding path, certainly, but the one that I have deemed safest for my Lady to travel without harm befalling her or her passengers. Though time is against us, we must not be hasty."

"Haste isn't what I had in mind," Quatermain said darkly. "I just want to stop the bastard before he destroys the world."

Mina glanced to the hunter beside her. Though he had been applying an outward demeanour that implied his mourning was past… his posture and expression now – at least in his dark eyes – suggested otherwise. He was far from content, and Sawyer's death was still weighing heavily on the man's conscience. He would want to deal personally with M. She had no doubt of that. And she respected it. Though she wouldn't mind having her way with him also, she had other loyalties. Gray needed to be taught the price of his treachery.

"As do we all, Mr. Quatermain," Nemo agreed sincerely, but with a tone of sympathy. "But smashing my vessel amongst the icy rocks will not help us to reach that goal."

Quatermain fell silent at that, though he was far from satisfied. Mina could read him like an open book, but fought to tear her eyes away lest she seem intruding. She only hoped Skinner could hold out on his own in that fortress without being caught.

Though it seemed melodramatic to think it, they were lost without him.

* * *

Inwardly cursing Gray with all the names he could think of, Tom tried with all his failing strength and fleeting adrenaline to fight his way free of the guards who had hold of him. Dante led the way, and Tom wished he could strike out at the lieutenant. He knew the man would want to do something in return to Tom to 'repay' him for the solid kick the agent had landed before his attempted flight from the fortress, and he almost dare not think what the man no doubt had in mind already. He was unnervingly quiet.

Tom hoped Skinner was around to follow. If the invisible man lost track of him now, he wasn't in the false hope that Skinner would be able to find him again. This wasn't the way back to M's chamber. They were going somewhere else, deeper in the fortress, it seemed. More than once, the men had 'accidentally' jarred him painfully, but on those occasions, he had managed to bite back the cries. He'd glared at them once or twice, showing more hatred in his eyes than he had ever known himself capable of. They were merely workers; striving for the prize of money or lands at the end, but they were _his_ workers, and that earned them that hatred in Tom's mind.

Finally, when it seemed Tom's aching feet were about to give out on him and let him collapse between the two guards, Dante led them inside a heavy door, pushing it open with one arm, though it was evident he was applying a decent amount of pressure. The door groaned on metal hinges, and Tom felt a cool dread settle in his stomach as it turned over once. He didn't like this… he didn't like this one bit.

But then again, anything was better than hanging from M's ceiling, he supposed.

Of course, when he saw the cage, he reconsidered that. He struggled anew, but Dante turned around quickly and planted a solid fist into his stomach that stole all the air from him. He doubled over and the men let go of him. He fell to his knees, badly winded and near blinded by the blow that had landed close to the stab wound, and tried to keep himself up on his shaky arms. A small key was tossed over his head, and the guards made about removing the manacles from his wrists, receiving little struggle from the pained American, who heard more than saw or felt the broken chains removed.

Tom looked up through narrowed eyes, vision restricted by the tears that had sprang there from the sharp blow, even as the men hauled him up from under the arms, dragging him towards the cage. Dante had pulled open the heavy barred door, and Tom threw him a scathing gaze as he was taken inside. Dante followed, smiling triumphantly as the agent was dropped unceremoniously to his knees again.

The lieutenant seemed to take silent delight in being the one to restrain Tom at the wrists again, locking the thick manacles in place with a kind of mad glee. Tom simply watched in disgust, his expression an odd mixture of hatred and pain, which flickered and glinted in his eyes as he simply knelt. Even when Dante manacled Tom's ankles, the agent did not move, rebuilding the energy he would need if he were to keep fighting with his optimism during this whole ordeal. Dante stood when he had finished chaining the American, and looked him in the face, before nodding to the two guards, one either side. They reached down and hauled Tom to his feet.

Tom groaned, but didn't fight them, wondering what it was that he was being lifted for. He forced his feet to hold him up, though he swayed dangerously, nearly having to brace himself against one of the guards. They held him only loosely, but he stood on his own for the most part, seeming to engage in some bizarre and unannounced staring contest with the all-too-happy lieutenant.

In his groggy state – though he did try to rouse from it – Tom barely registered Dante methodically removing something from his pocket. He looked up just as the lieutenant was slipping something onto his right hand, and Tom's wearily narrowed eyes stared as he started to sag slightly between the two guards holding him. He cocked his head in a worriedly curious fashion, even as Dante stalked closer.

_He is going to hit you…_

Dante kept prowling forward; wearing that predatory grin, even as Tom's breathing stepped up a pace.

_… And it is going to **hurt**._

But not even his own mind could brace him for the strike that _did_ come, as predicted. With a malicious force and intent, Dante's right fist struck out, connecting solidly and with the added strength of brass behind it that caused a dull crack to sound, and it took an agonising moment to realise that the noise came from his _chest_. He gave an abrupt cry of unbridled agony, and the two guards let him fall back, against the wall, and to the floor, collapsing into a messy heap of pain and shock. He barely had enough breath in him to gasp as Dante laughed viciously, crouching down.

"Consider us even, Yank," he snarled, still wearing the savage grin that bared his white teeth. Tom could look him in the eye no longer, and made an aggrieved noise not too unlike a whimper as he tried to curl up into a protective ball, fighting for air to fill his lungs. His entire chest was aflame from the blow, aided brutally by the brass-knuckles Dante had been carrying. The guards were silent as they followed Dante out of the cage that now contained the wounded American, who found that becoming said ball was harder than it sounded. His chest protested vehemently, and more forceful tears stung behind his eyelids, just screaming to be free. He heard them close and lock the cage door with a clang, and when they were gone, he pulled one arm over his head and gave a choked noise that could very well have been a sob.

* * *

Skinner' last clue as to the presence of Sawyer had been the abrupt and unmistakable yell of sheer pain that had caused his heart to nigh leap into his throat with anxiety and worry. He nearly slammed into Dante going around the last corner, and managed to practically hurl himself into the room they were just closing, without brushing against the lieutenant enough to be noticed. Skinner's breathing was ragged, and he stared at the heavy door as it was shut and… had they just locked it?

As the thief heard the choked sob-like noise, he turned, and all cares for his own freedom were cast immediately aside. Sawyer was crumpled against the wall in a cage, and looked _awful_. Skinner could hear the ragged gasps that passed feebly for breathing, and he jogged to the bars near the agent's head at once, landing on his knees as his bare feet skidded him to a halt.

"Bugger," he whispered, panicked for what he could do. "Sawyer?"

The American's covering right hand twitched slightly, and the breathing made his chest jerk with the disruption of the 'rhythm', but those two movements had confirmed to Skinner that the young man was awake… if not in serious agony.

"God, what did he do to you?" Skinner mumbled, half to himself and half to his aggrieved friend in the cell. He was chained at the hands and wrists, and Skinner's brow furrowed with rage and sympathy. How could they do this to him? Sawyer had done nothing to them… _nothing_. And they were brutalising him like animals. Skinner's fists balled at his sides, and he felt the strain on his knuckles. His jaw clenched furiously, and he said again, louder, "_Sawyer_. _Please_ respond. Let me know you're… let me know you can hear me at least." He had been going to say 'let me know you're all right'… but it was so far from true that not even the carefree American could have feigned it that much.

The arm dropped like a dead weight from Sawyer's head, tugging at his matted hair, and the dulled green eyes opened partially to regard… nothing. He couldn't see Skinner, for very good reason. He cursed under his breath, wishing he had some semblance of visibility for the agent to refer to. "Here, kid," Skinner muttered comfortingly, tapping his hand against the sturdy steel bars, hoping the spy could follow the noise.

Sawyer didn't disappoint, and his head turned and lifted slightly to look to the source of the sound. It seemed to tear most of his energy out of him though, for his head soon lay back on the ground, and Sawyer moaned quietly. Skinner closed his eyes tightly, and gritted his teeth so hard he thought he might damage his jaw.

Sawyer's ragged breathing lessened, and from watching the struggled movements of the chest, Skinner put together a rough mental picture of what had happened. He only now registered what Dante had been holding in his rugged hand upon passing him.

"Bloody knuckle-dusters," Skinner hissed, even as Sawyer's body lost its tension, and his fingers relaxed. He had passed out…

Skinner sighed heavily, now trapped in the room with his troubled friend. Without even really registering his own movements, one arm stretched through the bars, and his hand rested on Sawyer's head for a moment, as if to comfort him in his unconsciousness. After that, staring at the beaten body for a few seconds more, Skinner slumped against the wall, vigilant in his useless watch at his fallen friend's side.

* * *

M pretended to read the novel propped up on his knee, one leg crossed nonchalantly over the other as he drew in a lazy breath. There was a slight noise behind him, and he registered it. He knew she was there, even if she was trying to be quiet. He _had_ called for her a little over an hour ago, after all, to try and rid himself of some tension relating to the near-escape of the American.

He turned his head to watch her as she moved shamefully from the adjoined bedchamber, pulling her collar up about her pale neck. Her blonde hair had yet to be replaced in its clip, the adolescent curls reminding him of the spoilt children who had used to run around when _he_ was young. Her white dress screamed an innocence that he almost laughed at… especially with what he had just called her for. Though she looked sickeningly ashamed of herself as he glanced in a mirror, tears in her sapphire eyes, he wondered if some part of her enjoyed her 'privilege'. The sparkle that would come from such a jewel had been stolen from the orbs though, with his use for her. He smiled wickedly, and watched her as a cat would a mouse.

"My dear Eva," he began casually, his drawl calling her attention so suddenly that she started and closed her deep blue eyes, shuddering lightly. One of her arms wrapped around her thin waist, and she took a deep breath at the shock. He knew she understood an impressive amount of English, her father having made sure of that for some reason, so he continued briskly, "If you do not wish to remain in _my_ company, I can think of another task for you."

Eva Draper's face became a beautiful mask of youthful contempt for only a brief moment, wherein he could read in her expression the thought that she was under the impression he have her 'visit' Dante in the way she had with him. He laughed at her rash judgement, and closed his book gently, standing and regarding her with his body turned to her. She was so slight, that it seemed she would break with too much force applied, but she was rather tall, especially when one saw her father. She was a good five inches taller than Karl Draper at least, but M still shadowed her by a few, thankfully.

"Do not jump to conclusions, Miss Draper," he said to her in a sigh and with a wave of a hand. She watched him fearfully, almost with an unwanted respect as he continued, "I have something else entirely that you can be of use for." He moved closer to her a little, noticing how she still tried to shy away, her thigh brushing against a dainty tall table and making it rattle. Instinctively, she grabbed it to steady it, and looked back to him. He chuckled again, forever amused by her skittish behaviour. She was a like a deer, almost. "Tell me, do you have any medical knowledge or training?"

Eva Draper looked taken aback or puzzled by this inquiry, and her delicate brow furrowed in a most feminine fashion. She stood up a little straighter, eyes narrowed in confusion as she said, "Only basic medicines, taught to me by my father." After a moment, she added in an inquiry of her own, "Why…?"

M simply smiled.

Oh, he would enjoy this…

* * *

Eva Draper, young as she was, had seen more in her turbulent lifetime that she had ever wished she would have to. When she had woken up on the morning of the horrible abduction of many scientists and their families from their homes, she had never expected anything like _this_ to transpire.

She so wished it hadn't.

Eva was disgusted with herself, and if she had been of that nature, she would have taken satisfaction in trying to cut the impurities out of the skin where _he_ had touched her. He made her skin crawl, and her flesh still tingled unpleasantly from where his fingers had lain.

Pausing for a moment in the corridor, she noted how the guard turned inquiringly to gaze at her scornfully. She sighed lightly, throwing him a reproachful glare, and pressed on, overtaking him pointedly to carry on in her task.

As it was, she did not understand what he had asked of her. Why _her_, of all the people available to him? He had his own doctors and medics – trained ones at that – in the fortress, so why employ her? She was also concerned by his refusal to tell her who needed treatment, as crude a form as she could give, at any rate. He had simply neglected bluntly to tell her, and sent her on her way with a guard and a small box of supplies. She had not even been allowed to browse through to check she had all she needed, and she hated him for that. Not that she didn't despise the man already, but it simply added to the emotion. How was she to know she could do her 'job' properly without ensuring she had the right tools and medicines to do so?

The guard stopped her at the door, and Eva waited, stubbornly refusing to let her mind wander back over the last two hours, and stood as a perfect lady before the barricade. It was a heavy metal door, as one would see on the cell to a dangerous villain, and her brain kicked into furious action as she tried to fathom what she would find behind it.

The guards unlocked the door for her, and then collectively stepped aside, waiting for her to enter. Eva simply stood, staring fixatedly at the extra cell across the room, so much like a cage that one would find trapping a lion, or some other dangerous creature.

What she had _not_ expected to find was exactly what greeted her eyes as they stared at that motionless and battered body. Her stomach did a flip, and she gazed hesitantly at the guards. Simply from where she stood, she could see this man needed more care than she could give. He needed a _hospital_, not a box of crude supplies. The guard thrust a key into her hand, and then reached to push her inside, before she jerked her arm away, giving him a scathing, piercing glare.

"Do not touch me," she snapped at him, and then stepped inside, ever the lady she played at being. As the door closed, she let the external guise fall. She was no lady. She had not been treated as one, and so did not _feel_ like one. Swallowing her self-pity, Eva turned her gaze back upon that body, thinking for just a moment she heard a shuffle. Ignoring it simply for perhaps a movement from the man in the cage, and nothing more, she recalled the demand made of her.

Her heels carried her steadily and cautiously towards the bars, and the door that separated them to allow entry, wondering what made this man so dangerous to deserve such incarceration… before reality struck her a blow, and she realised he was not imprisoned for a deed.

The man who had been 'abusing' her simply had another outlet. Though this one was far more brutal. Her heart ached immediately, and with a shaking hand, she lifted the key, and used it in the cell door. It clanged quietly as she did so, and she thought she saw a slight movement. The man's back was to her, and she could see blood staining the shirt under the awkwardly placed vest in oddly positioned lines that either spoke of cuts or lashes. She could see the laboured breathing at his side that wasn't pressed against the floor, and as she entered the cage, she could see the dried blood that covered one side of the face.

Advancing slowly and softly, her white skirts rustling gently around her legs, she came to crouch beside the form, seeing the heavy manacles about the wrists and ankles, keeping him securely locked away from the edges of the cage. Were they really so concerned with his escaping that he needed not only a cage and a heavy steel door, but chains also?

Tentatively, one of her feminine hands reached over to brush some hair from his closed eyes… which suddenly shot open with a half-yelp as if she had burned him. She jumped back, an instinct she had learned quickly in this place, and gave a squeal of her own in surprise at his sudden movement… which apparently deeply pained him, for he recoiled from his own action with a loud groan, his eyes closing once again as he regained some semblance of a seated position. One knee lifted up – boot pressed against the floor – to shade his face from her view, and one of his restrained hands touched the back of his hand. She could hear his struggled breathing from where she crouched on the floor some three feet away, and she studied his agonised posture.

She had briefly seen the bloodied gash on his left temple, stretching across from the brow; the cuts or lashes across his back; blood positively stained his opened shirt at the front beneath a grubby black vest, from an obviously deep wound at his right side; and she thought she could see marks as if from burns on his chest and abdomen. All of this, joined with the evidence of breathing difficulty suggested only one thing and one thing alone to Eva Draper.

Torture.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	13. Lighting The Way

**Author's Note:** ACK! … Oops? Anyway, hope you like this one.

**DiabloCat:** The _League _will get there soon enough, don't worry. I haven't forgotten about them. 'O Evil One'… you know what? I like it XD

**Sawyer Fan:** Poor Tom (PT) indeed. I'm so mean to him. Glad you liked the Quatermain bit. Here's hoping I can make your day again.

**Lady Norbert:** Buddy 'hemme! XD I thank you for the review!

**Marcus Lazarus:** Bastard is a good word, yes. Sadistic thug would be a good title for M, yes. Your analysis is pretty accurate; Dante doing the physical, but M still giving the go-ahead. Pretty true, really. And you've sussed out the M-evil-plot-with-Eva bit. I'm glad.

**kingleby** Poor everyone! Trust me, its' easier to say O.o

**Angharad:** Skinner just seemed to fit that characteristic role of 'Big Brother'. I thought it was right. Eva was indeed in the book. She was mentioned a few times, here and there, and tried to stab M at the end. And she was cut from the film; the scene where Sawyer rams the butt of his rifle into a soldier's face in M's chamber was supposed to be Eva knocking him over the head o.O Don't ask my why they cut her out; she's still in the trailer. Glad you like and also understand the 'Eva sent to Tom' thing.

**Scifirogue-klutz:** I do indeed adore angst. I even have an icon on my live journal set out specifically for when I do angsty stuff. XD Glad you like the story.

**Drakena:** Glad you liked the inclusion of Eva Draper. I'm just glad people remember her. (Btw, Quinc**e**y has an E in it, if you look in the book; thought you'd like to know) As for your questions, yes you will have to wait, cuz I'm not giving anything away, mwahahaha!

**funyun** She was supposed to be in the movie, yes, and in that part too. Great that you remember. You were scared? I'm pretty sure that's a good thing. Thanks!

**Capt. Cow:** You're all about the love, aren't you? XD Knuckle dusters would indeed hurt, I'm sure. Luckily I can't speak from experience. Ouch.

**Funky In Fishnet:** Going through the wringer indeed. This is my one extremely mean story for the moment, I think. I spit them out every now and again to keep my Tom-angst-muse tamed. _Out of Sight, Out of mind_ is another such story. Glad you like it all. :)

**Of Love And Death:** Did you change your user name? I'm very flattered by your compliments. Thank you. Here's more.

**denna5:** I am? Too good at being mean to Tom? Bwahah. XD I think…

**queerquail** He's holding on as best he can! O.o Here's hoping Eva can keep him going too.

**Sethoz:** Under the shed? Aw, crap. Not the patio? Or the conservatory, like we discussed? No? Poo. NO! NOT LOVE SCUD! AAAAAH! _::runs, screaming in terror::_ I don't want to make you want to kill me, Thoz, believe me. And can I just say "Here Be Dragons" and your question about salt, for the record? XP

**Goody:** Glad you're liking it. Thanks!

**Nimmo Sawyer:** Don't worry about not reviewing the last chapter. Just glad you liked it, which I'm assuming you did, cuz there was no flame in my inbox XD There's a little clarification on what M did to Eva in this chapter if you didn't get it in the last one. If it doesn't become clear in this one, I really don't want to plain old write it out because… it's not pleasant. And she's not original, so I can't take credit for the name, which _is_ nice though. And I'll pass on your message to M XD

**Thunderjam:** Thanks! Glad you like it. Hope you like this one too.

Gah… that's a lot of shout outs.

Here's the new chapter of **Envenom…**

* * *

His eyes burned with the strain of trying to focus as soon as he opened them again, and it seemed as though everything in his being was on fire, overheated one minute and cold the next, as though he were being plunged into a vat of ice. He tried to see who it was who had touched and startled him, fighting to regain some semblance of a normal rhythm in breathing, and his bloodied face twisted into an expression of extreme discomfort.

No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't see… his chest was causing him agony.

It just hurt so much…

* * *

Eva watched him, consumed by sympathy and pity, and disgust aimed at the man who had caused it all. All this pain in one body… it was just wrong. No one deserved to be beaten and abused so badly. It made her own 'torture' seem so tame. She swallowed; her throat and mouth unbearably dry, and moved slightly.

The man's head shifted slightly at the sound of her movement, and he winced. She studied his face then as his leg jerked a little and lowered just a fraction, enabling her to see the features.

_Why, he's barely older than __I._ Eva's delicate brow furrowed in increased compassion, wondering how the Fantom – as he had arrogantly called himself to the captives – could justify his treatment of a man so young as this. He had a boyish appearance, though from the lines on his brow and his expression – other than the pain – it seemed he had seen more than one would immediately assume. Beneath a light brow were eyes she imagined were once bright, but now they were dulled somewhat. They looked green, but without moving closer, she couldn't tell.

So it was, curious and concerned, that she edged closer and closer, a fraction at a time, not wishing to startle him. He looked to her, frightened or wary, drawing his body back to tense against the wall in a way that obviously aggrieved him or aggravated some wound she could not see. The eyes were indeed green, but not wholly. The emerald was broken by flecks of a brown-hazel, like autumn leaves, almost, and she stared into them, trying to show him with just a gaze that she was no threat. Limp and lightly curled blonde hair had matted together somewhat at the left side of his head from the wound that had bled down his face, and it hung lifelessly on his brow and around the curves of his features.

She inhaled slowly, drawing in a deep breath, and showed the palm of one small hand. "I will not harm you," she said, her accented voice soft and just above a compassionate whisper. He studied her, eyes narrowed in either a struggled or studying manner.

"Are…" he began, his voice harsh and abused, or parched from dehydration. "You look like an angel…"

Eva frowned. There was something very wrong with the young man. From the sound of his voice, and the lilt of his own accent, he was American. One of the few she had ever met. She tilted her head to one side with worry, and said, "I will return in a moment. Remain still, and do not trouble yourself." She offered him a fleeting smile, and stood, removing herself from the cell, and walking to the door. She banged on it lightly with the flat of her hand, and waited for the man to open it.

"What?" they asked abruptly, looking as if she had done them a grave disservice in interrupting their… nothingness. She threw him a mild-tempered glare.

"I have need of something else, or I cannot do the job set to me," she explained, unsure where her bravery had come from all of a sudden. In truth, these lackeys did not frighten her so much as the lieutenant, Dante, the cane-wielding Englishman, or the Fantom himself. But there was an edge to her voice that she thought commanded at least consideration if not a faint flicker of respect.

The guards eyed each other for a moment, and then asked sceptically, "What do you need?"

"I need water," she said simply, and immediately the guards made to protest. "I was ordered to keep him _alive_," she interrupted almost cruelly, her words stern. "And that is going to be _very_ difficult if he dies of dehydration. He needs fluids to help his recovery."

But when Eva studied them… they appeared afraid. It all started to fall into place. Sighing, she said imploringly, "I will not tell him if you keep it secret also. He need not know I have given this man water."

After another few silent and unbearable moments, she added as a last resort, "Please."

This seemed to stir some sort of reaction in them, for one sighed, and nodded. The other closed the door again, locking her inside once more, but she felt satisfied at least that she had accomplished one thing so far, if nothing else. She turned to look back at the cell, the door having been left open, and saw he was trying to compose himself. He had leaned his head back against the wall behind him, but he still seemed to be trying to breathe in more than struggled pants. She was concerned he had an injury she would not be _able_ to see. A feeling rose up in her, something like an intuition, and even as the guards opened the door to hand her a jug of water and simple mug, she asked of them another favour; "Could you find me some ice?"

"Ice?"

"Yes." Eva fought very hard to refrain from using the sarcasm that her father had unintentionally spurred in his daughter, and stared at them as though they were mere children missing the point. "_Ice_. I have need of it."

The guards grumbled, as though she were abusing a privilege, and moved off again. Once more, she heard the door lock. Whilst she waited, she decided to head back to the young man, and see if she could get him to drink. She kept her movements soft and slow, so as not to startle him if he looked her way, and soon, she was kneeling down before him, not in the slightest perturbed that her 'precious' white skirts could become dirtied. She poured some of the water from the carafe into the mug, and tested it. She didn't trust the guards, and at least if it was poisoned and she suffered, she would have spared the prisoner some other discomfort.

Finding it more than safe, if not a little warm – something she could not fathom in this icy fortress surrounded by snowfields and mountains of white – she called his attention with a soft whisper. His eyes opened slowly, and he looked to her again, as if in a daze.

"My name is Eva," she said to him gently. "Eva Draper." She smiled. "But you must call me Eva." With that, she showed him the water, and urged softly, "I need for you to drink; it will make you feel better."

He did not nod, but then he did not decline either, so Eva took that as an acknowledgement in itself. She moved her hand to brace his head gently at one side towards his neck, and lifted the cup, tilting it slowly and gradually for him. He drank painfully slow, and in a shocking temperance. Perhaps he simply did not have the energy to gulp it down, but even as she tilted the cup a little more, she felt the tension in his body, and saw the discomfort across his brow. She removed the cup at once, and he started to cough haggardly. She sighed, and tried to soothe him, trying her best not to notice the sound of the coughs themselves. They were not normal; she had heard it before in sufferers of injury within the body.

"Do you need more?" she asked calmly as he managed to stop himself from coughing, though with great effort. Panting, he shook his head. "What is your name?" she prompted in a warm fashion, trying to show him with her voice and posture that she was no threat; she was a friend if he wanted one. He certainly seemed to _need_ one if nothing else.

Treading the fine line between audible and beyond, she heard him say simply, "Tom."

"Tom," she repeated for verification, and he gave the tiniest of nods, drawing in a deep, rasping breath, and laying back against the wall with a wince. His drawn-up leg dropped a little more, the chain rattling about his ankle. "Tom, I need to inspect your chest. Will you allow me to do this?"

The dimmed eyes opened and he looked to her in a confirming manner of one who could not form the words. Her heart went out to him, and she moved forward, thankful she would not need to unfasten his shirt. It would have made her uncomfortable. The Fantom had spared her that task already. She tried not to look at the burns on his torso, as she very gently placed a hand to his chest. He tensed at once, and she _felt_ the pain coursing through him even before he gasped and groaned. She could feel a heat under the skin, and even a swelling as she moved her fingers in an examining manner, and sighed. Someone had dealt him a wicked blow, and his ribs had been unable to withstand the force. The uneven breathing and heat and reactions confirmed her fear of a damaged rib, if not more than one.

It was at that moment that the lock came away, and the guard poked his head in, showing the bag of ice chunks he had gathered. He looked to Eva with her 'patient', and then simply dropped them inside the door a little way, before closing and locking it once again. Eva scowled distastefully, and stood to collect the ice, bringing it back to Tom when she had gathered it in her hands.

"Tom," she began anew. "This will no doubt pain you, but it will help you a great deal. I _promise_." Their eyes met, and she stared deep into the pained eyes, where she thought she saw a faint flash of strength for a moment that inspired. He was fighting… he didn't want to give in to the bully who was breaking him a piece at a time. She admired him for that, and smiled, touching a hand carefully to the cleaner side of his youthfully handsome face.

Were it not for the Fantom's orders of the contrary, she would have washed the blood away. As it was, she was only supposed to bandage and clean the stab wound to stop it from getting infected. She sincerely hoped there was an antiseptic or cleaner of some kind for the burns as well. They would become infected horribly quickly if not treated, even if only crudely.

Tentatively; trying to be as gentle as humanly possible, Eva pressed the meagre icepack against the beaten chest, seeing his grimace and the tension in his jaw as he clenched it to bite back the sounds of pain. Truly she did not mind him voicing his troubles, if only in groans of gasps, but she supposed his stubbornness and pride was what had caused him so much 'attention' in the first place. She held the ice in place, letting it cool and sooth the damaged rib – or _ribs _respectively – as she visually inspected the other wounds on his chest and abdomen. The burns were few, but whatever had been heated had been held in place for at least a few seconds; long enough to cause a strong marring and damaging of the skin. Reaching behind her without removing the bag of ice, she grabbed the box and pulled it closer. She glanced to Tom, whose eyes were closed as he breathed deeply to try and combat the ache. She hoped it was lessening.

Removing the simple lid, she let out a sigh of surprise and relief. The Fantom had either taken pity, or was being a realist. There was cloth, gauze, bandages and antiseptics. It would be enough to treat the stab and the burns at least. She couldn't ask for more at this point in time. The guards had been 'kind' as it was, so she did not feel like pushing her luck in demanding more than what she had been given.

Smiling warmly, she saw Tom looking at her, almost curiously, and stroked back a lock of misplaced blonde hair as she held the ice to his wounded chest.

* * *

Skinner watched in something akin to intrigued fascination as the self-named Eva Draper – the name rang a bell, but he couldn't place it at present – and Tom sat in the cell, the former treating the latter. Had M taken pity on the spy? And if so, why?

But then again, why send a girl? A girl who seemed less than thrilled to even be here at the least. She seemed honest enough, and with good intent too. He considered revealing himself to her, but decided against it. He would keep his advantage for now, lest he need utter secrecy in the near future. He didn't want her to accidentally let it slip that he was present. Still, she could be a valuable asset. She seemed to have some minor sway over the guards, and they could use that to their advantage. He wasn't quite sure how yet, but he was certain something would come up where she could be of use.

Skinner studied her casually as he sat there, practically parallel to his wounded friend, with a good view of the young European woman. He guessed her to be a relation of one of the kidnapped scientists. But there was something else. She carried herself with a kind of forced dignity, as though she were ashamed of something. Skinner sat there, trying to fathom what it could be, and then it dawned on him slowly, melting away the fog in his mind as to her reasons for being allowed 'free reign', as it were.

He sneered, and felt disgust turn his stomach. The actions he had concluded upon as to her posture and behaviour, and her reasons for being here in the first place, reminded him of one Hawley Griffin, who had delighted in women much the same way as it seemed M had taken to.

He made to mutter his hatred, but thought better of it, remembering his thoughts on the matter, and falling utterly silent and still once again, pitying both the girl, and the spy she was so tenderly treating.

* * *

Sanderson Reed was not one for such drastic changes in the weather. All in the space of a matter of months alone, he had gone from the veldts of Africa, to the rainy streets of London, and now the icy plains of Mongolia. He wasn't used to it. London, he could readily deal with, having been born and raised in the city so prone to random weather that only fluctuated in temperature mildly.

He worked his way at a steady and brisk pace to the large laboratory floor, where he would find Dante and M. They were probably waiting for him. He didn't plan to keep them for much longer. He had been sitting on his hands in this endeavour for long enough since 'recruiting' that doddering old fool, Quatermain.

Striding down the steps into the laboratory, he saw Dante and M look up to him, greeting him silently with their eyes. The immortal was nowhere to be seen. Reed supposed he was brooding in his room over some past sin or another.

"You're a little late, Reed," M drawled, snapping a pocket watch shut, and hiding it from view once again as he eyed the approaching man. Reed completed his descent, and came to stand beside them.

"I apologise," was all he said. "So… how are things progressing?"

"We're coming along _very_ nicely," M said with triumph in his eyes. "One of the experiments is ready to be tested."

"Already?"

"Indeed." M's nod was confirmation enough. "All we need is a subject."

Reed pondered his options, of which there were few, and then deliberated his loyalty to M, the man who had already promised him so much power. There was much to be had from this endeavour, the spoils rich in abundance… but maybe there were other less obvious rewards to be claimed. He smiled slightly, and spoke up, "I volunteer."

M turned to him, eyes narrowed. Dante wasn't far behind. "You _volunteer_, Reed? You do know the consequences of this formula? It is, we suspect, irreversible for now."

"I understand perfectly," Reed voiced, nodding, stepping forward. "And I accept the consequences willingly. Anything to help us advance, sir." He had been calling M 'sir' for a while now, and he supposed it would be a tough habit to break.

M seemed pensive for a long while, and then asked quietly, "You don't care at all about what you will lose?"

Reed did not delay in shaking his head. "Not at all, sir. So long as I survive the process, I am willing to proceed."

"Well," M began almost cheerily, "it saves me using one of the slaves anyway. I probably would have had to kill them afterwards to keep them from escaping, and that would have just been a plain old _waste_."

Dante chuckled gruffly, as was his way, and the three paced confidently through the laboratory. Scientists seemed to shy away from them, and Reed stopped the smug grin from manifesting at that fact. It wouldn't do to get too cocky.

Coming up upon the table in question, M lifted a vial from the surface, and examined it in the light. Turning to one of the scientists, he inquired as to its readiness. The scientist briskly nodded, under the stern gaze of M, and then was ushered to a distance by a guard. Reed watched all this silently, even as M turned to him, and offered out the vial.

"This should definitely be interesting, at the very least," he said, as Reed accepted the small glass bottle.

He stared down at it for a long time with curious eyes, blinking slowly, face pensive and expression thoughtful. He turned it over and over again in his mind for a few moments, before he nonchalantly removed the stopper, and downed the contents without hesitation, feeling the liquid slip down his throat like an icy liquor. He shuddered for a moment, and handed M the empty vial, which was placed back on the desk.

For a long time… nothing happened, and Reed was about to voice his concerns when he felt a jerk in his gut. He held a hand to his abdomen, and then felt the first stab of pain, giving a gasp and doubling over. M and Date stepped away quickly, neither moving forward to help or offer concern. Reed was just another worker; he knew and had come to terms with this. He screwed up his face in agony, and dropped to his knees, feeling something churn through his body and tear at it like claws.

His breathing quickly became ragged and struggled, and tears streamed from his eyes as he fell to his side, the agony no longer describable. It tore though him mercilessly, and he heard a stuttered exclamation of shock from M. Dante was silent.

Reed opened his eyes just enough to lift one hand and see what was happening. His mouth dropped open in silent surprise and possibly horror as he watched the skin fade away, exposing muscle, flesh and bone, able to see the very veins which transported the blood around his body. He glanced down to the rest of his body to see what was happening, having failed to register that the rest of his skin was underneath clothing and therefore unable to be seen. Scrabbling to a sitting position, still gasping as though his lungs were failing, his back landed against the desk, rattling the objects overhead, and his hands grasped at the collar of his shirt, practically tearing it open. He watched in awed and strange fascination as his organs were displayed down his chest and abdomen, his intestines and ribcage soon starting to wane from view. They faded like an old photograph, the visibility ceasing to exist. Soon enough, his liver, kidneys, lungs, stomach, heart… it was all vanishing before his very eyes.

He blinked, to find nothing happened. He shut his eyes, and had perfect visibility _through_ them. He reached a hand up to his head… finding that his hair had survived the process at least. The pain started to ebb and dissipate, and he looked up to his audience. Half the guards and scientists had stopped to watch the experiment, and he struggled to his feet.

M and Dante were staring in fixation, before the former started to smile… and then grin… before a full out laugh broke the stunned silence in the vast room. It soon became hysterical, and he rolled his head back in glee, Reed smiling as well, but no one could see it. He caught his reflection in one of the beakers, and stared at it. His clothing seemed to have a life of its own, and he chuckled in mirth.

It was all gone. Face, hands, eyes, mouth, nose, hair… well, his hair was still there, but now had no colour or visible style.

Sanderson Reed had never liked his red hair anyway.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	14. Killing Time

**Author's Note:** Jeez, I am **_SO SORRY_** for the month-long delay, or however long it's been. I really didn't mean to hold back this long. My argument is that I was taking part in a Ficathon on , and that's what I've been doing. I was dedicated to getting that finished on time, and… well, I really am very, truly sorry. I hope you forgive me, and like this update enough to not beat me with frying pans or frozen bakery products. Oh jeez, this update is a tad shorter than I'd like as well. Eeep. On a positive note, I think this story is going to be _much_ longer than I had first anticipated. At first, I thought maybe fifteen chapters max… it's looking to be _much_ longer than that right now. I have no idea where I'm going. Thanks for staying with me so far, and I hope I can keep your interest in my continuation XD

**AcidOverRideChic:** Thanks very much. Finish is a long way off.

**Drakena:** Eva took over a muse-slot in my head. Hostile takeover!

**DiabloCat:** Thanks very much. I like Eva Draper too, which is why she appeared here when I hadn't really originally planned for her to.

**Sawyer Fan:** Thanks very much, my fellow AAA member! Bwahah! I haven't planned anything including Hawley Griffin myself, but I know someone who has… XD Update LXG2! And you evil fiend… I was looking at Vin pictures last night XP I blame you.

**kingleby:** Glad you like Eva. I was a tad worried about putting her in for fear of people thinking she was an OC, and therefore branding her a dreaded Mary-Sue. Ugh. Thanks very much about the Reed thing! Heh.

**Angharad:** Thanks very much!

**Scifi Kane:** Eeep. Not the flying monkeys! Better make sure I keep updating then. Thanks for the review!

**denna5:** Thanks for the review, and about Tom… you'll have to wait and see…

**BigMacAttack:** You'll have to wait and see if your suspicions are correct, mwahahaha.

**Of Love And Death:** Eva, as I said, took up residency in my brain, and won't leave, so she'll be appearing a lot more than I first planned… which was… well, I never planned to feature her at first. XD

**Funky in Fishnet:** I thank you kindly regarding Reed. That's comforting. Glad you like Eva, too.

**LotRseer3350:** Thanks very much, about Reed! I'm so glad I put that in now.

**funyun:** I have no idea, regarding the hair, but in the film, you can see his hair in his dusty outline. I was gonna have it falling out and him kinda OO but then I remembered his form in the movie, and reconsidered. Sorry I've been neglecting the _League_. I haven't been meaning to.

**Sethoz:** Heh, thanks, buddy! Remember, you're responsible for this story! Mwahahaha! THAT chapter is on the way… somewhere in the near future… horizon. There! Way out there! See it? No? … I'd better run. _::runs::_

**Capt. Cow:** Sorry to see you don't like Tom/Mina. Well, rest assured, this story definitely isn't Tom/Mina.

**BloodMoonLycan:** Don't worry about the missing review. It's okay! Really XD HAHAHAH! You should kick Dante! KICK HIM! Ahem… yes, anyway. Jerk indeed, that's what he is, to the core. Yay for Eva! I'm getting very fond of Eva oO

**wakingbear:** I don't remember reading your review 'til just now. How very odd. I could very well have been an evil genius, but Bond probably eradicated me with some silly inexplicable gadget XD And I hope Sethoz, Sawyer Fan, and I can _more_ than make up for the lack of other Tom-angst writers out there XD

**SissorsForHands:** Here's the update!

**brittanysr:** Thanks very much. Here's the update.

**Nimmo Sawyer:** M did indeed get your message… I won't tell you his reaction, because I'm still recovering for myself. Let's put it this way; M was very 'un-gentlemanly' towards Eva. White is no longer her colour… okay, I'm stopping there. Hope that helps.

**kelly:** AIKE! Don't poke me! PLEASE! I'll update, I swear! See? I updated!

**Leigh S. Durron:** A new angst fan! HAHAH! Victory is mine…

**girl from mars:** Eeep! Here's an update!

**Mellaithwen:** Thanks for your interest, and here's your continuation!

Holy hellfire… that's a lot of shout outs. Of course, I don't have to reply to everyone, but I like to… cuz I'm a nerd. Anyway, here is Chapter Fourteen of **Envenom…**

* * *

Eva slipped out of the room, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her, and offered the guards a brief, grateful glance, before she went on her way, the little box in one hand, and the carafe and mug in the other. True, her hands were full, but she did not want any help. She had always been called independent, and who was she to go back on that now? Besides, there were only the guards to help, and she didn't want that from them. They had played their parts, and she was thankful for what little they had given her in order to help Tom.

The poor young man… he was in a terrible condition. She hoped she had helped enough to make a difference. His breathing had been less laboured when she had finally left him, after spending the better part of an hour and a half in that cell with him, managing to get him to drink sporadically, and generally keeping him company. But she knew one thing, and one thing for certain in her mind.

She could not let the Fantom know of her feelings for Tom. She could not let him know she cared.

He would only enjoy that, and exploit it.

* * *

Skinner nearly got jammed in the door as the guards were closing it, but he suppressed a yelp, and slid out awkwardly, managing not to ram against any of the men in the process, and sucked in a deep breath when he was clear of being squashed. Looking over his shoulder at the closed portal, he almost cursed his decision to leave and follow Eva Draper… but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Again.

He followed her like a second and unannounced shadow as they trailed away from the room where Sawyer was being held, and for a moment, guilt tore into his stomach like small blades. He gnawed on his bottom lip, wondering if he really should have left the spy alone. He had been barely conscious when Eva Draper had taken her leave, exhausted and relieved by the treatment the woman had given him. Hopefully, Sawyer would be okay without Skinner there, if he even remembered the thief had been present at all.

_The question is, do I let her know I'm here?_ Skinner was figuring this out for himself, when he realised Eva Draper had stopped walking, probably thinking, and he hadn't noticed.

Which, of course, led to Skinner solving his own puzzle by running _into_ the woman, and knocking them both other with a squeal and a yelp. He cursed his distraction and inability to pay attention, and scrambled off her with wide eyes, seeing her fear and confusion. For one horrible moment, Skinner thought she was going to scream in terror.

"Wait!" Skinner hissed, and forced himself into a suitable position to grab the box calmly and lift it slowly. "I'm not going to hurt you. All right? Spooks don't speak, and I'm not working for M either." She looked puzzled, and he shook his head. "The Fantom. I don't work for him… I'm trying to _stop_ the bugger."

Eva furrowed her feminine brows, and swallowed noticeably. "What do you want?"

"I… first of all, I'm going to give you this box back. See?" He held it out for her to take, which she did, albeit tentatively. He couldn't blame her for that though, considering an invisible man had just knocked her over out of nowhere. "Secondly… I want to thank you."

She cocked her head slightly to one side, locks of her dislodged honey hair falling across her cheek. "Why?"

"Sawyer… Tom Sawyer. He's a friend of mine. Thank you for helping him like you did. It means a lot. He was in a lot of pain."

Understanding dawned on the young attractive face, and she finally smiled, if only wanly. He nearly missed the expression in fact, even as she said, "Though I would like to take credit for the idea, I cannot."

Skinner cocked his head, but when he remembered its futility, he settled for a simple, "What?"

"It was not my own doing to come to your friend and give him treatment."

Skinner furrowed his brow heavily, and then the fog lifted from his brain. He nearly growled, controlling himself long enough to say, "The bastard." It all made perfect sense to him now; why she had been sent, and just why it was _her_ and not a doctor.

"Excuse me?" Eva breathed in confusion, almost backing away from the invisible man.

"M… the Fantom… whatever you want to call him. He sent you, didn't he?"

Eva's nod was all Skinner needed, and his fists immediately started to curl into tight and furious balls, whilst he fought down the strong and powerful urge to smash something… like M's head. "I'll kill 'im."

"I… do not understand. I thought that you wanted Tom to be treated? Is this bad?" Eva's eyes showed her bemusement, and Skinner sympathised at once. She seemed intelligent enough… if a little naïve on top of that. It wasn't her fault. She was only playing the hand that had been dealt to her. Her options were limited, and he didn't blame her. She wasn't the guilty party.

"M – the Fantom – wants to keep Tom _alive_, so he can _keep_ hurting him! Don't you see? This is all a game with him; a sick, twisted and evil game. It's entertainment, and Tom is on the receiving end of all his… ugh, I want to tear him apart with my bare hands!" Skinner mimed throttling M, but was actually rather grateful the young woman couldn't see the vicious motion.

Eva seemed to comprehend then, and she looked absolutely crestfallen. Guilt swam in her bright eyes, and she even paled. "I…"

"No, wait; it's not your fault, all right? Don't go blaming yourself for what _he's_ doing to my friend. All you can do is what you need to stay alive, all right? And you have to do that. You helped Tom back in there. You did more than patch him up. He looked hopeful for a minute… and I thought he was losin' that." Skinner gently and tentatively – so as not to frighten her – touched a hand to Eva's lean arm. "Don't let him lose that."

* * *

Eva almost recoiled from the unseen touch, and swallowed slightly, looking in the vague direction of his face, or where she supposed it would be. His words were sinking into her mind, and starting to take root. He did have a point. The young man locked in that room needed all the help he could get, and if this 'man' thought she was giving the aide desired, then who was she to deny its continuation?

"I'm Rodney Skinner," the voice said softly, and she felt a hand slip carefully into hers for her to shake. She did so, and realised how odd it would have appeared should someone happen around the corner and upon the scene. Swallowing her doubts, she smiled, and returned with, "Eva Draper. I will help your friend any way that I can. You need only ask anything of me, and if I can get it, I shall."

Rodney Skinner sighed with relief. "It feels good to hear that. Not too many folks around here who _can_ help, but you… you're different." She had the distinct impression a finger was jabbing lightly in her direction, and she almost chuckled. "Now, I know this is gonna sound weird, but… well, I'm going to need to shadow you."

"Pardon?" She couldn't help her confusion, or the knitting of her brows that was testament to such.

"Follow you around; that sort of thing. It'll help me figure out what M plans to do with Tom.

Eva's eyes widened. The Professor! She had been gone so long!

"W-what is it?" Skinner stammered, and she imagined him looking over his shoulder and all around for danger, as if she had spotted something looming.

"I must return! He will come looking for me, and you might be discovered! Follow me at your own risk, but _please_, do not let him find you. One man's suffering, I can take, but not two." Her despair was clear in her voice, and it pained her to think what might happen if the man was discovered or captured… as impossible as that might have seemed. The Professor had his ways of getting whatever he wanted, _whenever_ he wanted. He would have no trouble finding Mr. Skinner.

"C'mon then. Let's get you back." She felt his hands firmly in hers, helping her to her feet, and as she brushed off her skirts – already dusty from kneeling in Tom's cell – he retrieved the box for her, handing it over when she had finished her menial cleaning of her own attire. He picked up the mug and carafe, both of which were empty, and they went on their way. She wasn't sure how, but she could _feel_ him behind her all the way to M's chamber. They would dispose of the evidence of refreshment on the way; it wouldn't do to try his temper on her treatment of the 'prisoner', no matter what her argument was.

And if there was one thing she needed right now, more than anything, it was M's trust, and her freedom of movement.

* * *

Dorian had more than made up for lost contemplation time, lost with his thoughts, where he had spent the last hour or so in his rooms in the fortress, sitting in front of his lit fireplace. He had stared into those flickering flames, twirling his cane idly in one hand as he let his mind wander… and then his feet had decided they wanted to follow. He found himself now, once again, on the move, strolling along the corridors, looking very much the casual gentleman. His cane would occasionally clack against the stone floor as his heels tapped, and he hummed a gentle tune to himself as he moved. He remembered nights at the opera with friends and acquaintances, and watching performances of plays in the evenings during the week. Oh how simple life had been all those years ago. No matter… those days were gone. All he wanted now was to return to London.

He found himself coming up on some guards, and quirked a neat brow, remembering how the same men had dragged Sawyer away when he had tried to escape. Chuckling quietly to himself, he wondered if the boy would like a visit from a 'friend'. Well, of course he wouldn't, but it would be amusing for Dorian to look down on the brat in his failure and think about that once-cocky attitude. M was breaking him… and if it wasn't figurative, it was soon to be literal.

He nodded his head to the guards, who seemed a little taken aback by his sudden and quiet approach. They obviously hadn't heard him arrive on the scene, and for that, he was glad. He hadn't lost his touch.

The men didn't question his motives, and one of them retrieved the small but vital key from on his person to unlock the door. Dorian waited patiently, resting his hands casually and calmly on the pommel of his solid cane as he did so.

* * *

Tom had his arms draped loosely over his drawn up knees, taking deep breaths to try and soothe the lingering pain in his body. The burns, cuts and broken rub weren't so intense now, and neither was the knife wound… thanks to Eva. She had lightly bandaged the stab wound to keep it from bleeding out so badly, and had used antiseptic to keep him from getting infections. It had stung madly, and he had wanted to scream once or twice, but for Eva's sake – so as not to make her feel guilty for hurting him unintentionally – he had choked them back, and gritted his teeth so hard he thought he might break his own jaw. His fists were a little sore from being clenched so tight as well, but the discomfort would pass.

In his mind, he thought he heard the click of the lock being cast aside from the main door to the room, but with his eyes closed and with his own deep breathing to settle the ache, he didn't truly register it. Even the sound of approaching feet could not bring him out of his seemingly meditative state as he simply slouched against that wall, in the least uncomfortable position he could find, head dropping forward a little, hair tumbling across his face limply.

What he wouldn't have given to submerge himself in hot water at that moment…

The creak of the cell door, however, certainly _did_ rouse him from his musings and calming of his own body, and he slowly opened his eyes… he knew that cocky stride. The confidence in the pace was unmistakeable, and as he listened – as intently as he could manage – he thought he recognised the familiar and rhythmic '_click-click-click_' of the tip of a cane touching to the cold, hard floor in time with his steps.

The sounds stopped, and Tom lifted his head a little way from the position it had dropped to, eyes meeting the dark, cruel and scheming gaze of Dorian Gray, who stood impassively before him. Tom blinked slowly, staring straight back up with hate burning like an inferno in his own eyes. He wanted to tear the immortal apart with every fibre of strength left in his beaten body, and even as he sat there, seemingly calm and collected, his punished chest heaved rapidly with quickened breathing, his face twisting almost into a sneer as his eyes flashed dangerously. Dorian simply stood, and a slight smile turned his lips up at the edges in an almost mockingly kind smile.

In the blink of an eye, Tom had forced his agonised frame up from the floor, launched like a catapult, lunging forward at the unmoving immortal, and the spy had every intention of trying to strangle the life out of the smug man.

Dorian, it seemed, had anticipated such a volatile reaction, and was just out of reach, as one of Tom's ankle manacles snapped him back, and with a cry of pain, his leg was torn out from under him, causing him to slam down to one knee and brace himself. His arms had run out of slack as well, and were being held back from his torso a little as he gasped and panted heavily, looking up fiercely to Dorian Gray with pained light eyes.

Of all the questions Tom could have possibly asked, only one fought for precedence with the ferocity of a cornered tiger, clawing its way to the surface, with no chance of being denied. It bubbled up in Tom's throat, and emerged before his brain had truly comprehended what it was he meant.

"Why…?"

**_To Be Continued…_**


	15. Hole In My Soul

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the wait XD Ah, the repetition, isn't it fun? O.o

**tonianne:** Thanks very much. Here it is.

**Sawyer Fan:** Mental angst? Would I…? … Of course I would XD It is indeed good to keep you happy, so here you go!

**Funky In Fishnet:** Dorian makes everyone mad, heh. Thanks for the review.

**Mellaithwen:** You do indeed have to find out why. And here's the answer in this chapter.

**Ajali: **You really are too kind with your words, but I thank you all the same. I like to think I'm improving all the while, learning tid-bits as I go along XD Aha, Envenom… was wracking my brain for something that spoke of bitterness and cruelty, and that was what I found. It's supposed to be kinda symbolic… but if it doesn't work, then just think about poor Sawyer in his cell. Your guess as to the meaning is actually pretty accurate, anyway. Thanks for the review!

**denna5:** Thanks very much, and here's an update!

**kingleby** Thanks for the review as always! I'm glad I can affect you like you said with my writing.

**DiabloCat:** Here's the next chapter! Not quite such a long wait XD

**Drakena:** Thanks for the review.

**BloodMoonLycan:** Me? A cliff hanger? But of course! XD It's what I DO! Eeep! Don't die! Sam'll kill me! O.O

**liberator**** of captured ang:** Interesting name. Don't worry, he… probably will get saved o.O Possibly. Ahem… excuse me while I run away… O.o

**wicked-n-lazy** Dorian – the bitch monster from hell XD Sorry, couldn't resist. Can't be a good thing that he keeps passing out, can it? O.o

**SissorsForHands:** I'm cruel because that's the way I am unfortunately. Can't help it. XD Hope you enjoy the update.

**Iblis:** Thanks! I'm glad you think I write them well XD Here's the update.

**Sethoz:** Grr, indeed. Thanks for the review, and the wonderful Landon quote XD

Thanks for your patience, and here's the new part of **Envenom**…

* * *

"How much longer?" demanded the voice as the man stepped onto the bridge, the darkness from beneath the ice concealing everything from view beyond the ship's hull. The lamps inside the room illuminated perfectly for Quatermain to see, as Nemo turned to him. He'd been wondering when the man would reach the end of his tether.

"We are reaching our destination, but the ice is thick. We must find a point for the tower to break through if we are to disembark. Have patience."

"I've had enough of patience," Quatermain growled irritably, fussing around in the general area of the maps that had plotted out their course. Nemo watched the man carefully.

"Skinner would have contacted us had anything changed, Mr. Quatermain. Our enemy is not going anywhere without us knowing."

Quatermain's wise eyes rose, a dark glint in them that made the captain rethink his momentary optimism. "And what if something's happened to Skinner, 'eh?"

Nemo had to admit – at least to himself – that he had failed to consider this prospect; a very ominous one indeed. What if, as Quatermain suggested, something _had_ happened to the thief? They would be none the wiser is the Fantom had left Mongolia… they would lose him.

They could not let this happen; to lose their quarry would be to condemn the world to war. Millions would perish, and Nemo _would_ not allow that.

To his crew, he ordered in his native tongue that they make haste, and then looked to Quatermain, bowing his head halfway to communicate that he was right. The hunter nodded thankfully, and left again.

* * *

Allan put one of his hands in his pockets as he walked away from the bridge, not liking having nothing to do but wait… it made him feel useless and small, and he had always hated that feeling. He despised feeling inferior.

He needed to be occupied… keep himself busy. He couldn't look over the papers anymore, having already stared at them for the last three hours, and he couldn't go up to practise with Matilda. They were below the water… under several feet of ice, or so he had been told. To surface now would be impossible, he knew.

He didn't have science or medicine to occupy his time, such as with Mina Harker or Henry Jekyll, and he was not responsible for running the Nautilus, as with Nemo. He was wandering, aimlessly, and he was going more than a little stir crazy. The more he let his mind roam, the more he thought about Sawyer, and Harry.

Grumbling to himself, he found himself entering the room where he and Mrs. Harker had set up the small memorial, and regarded it. The candle was nearly burned right down, and he furrowed his brow. It _had_ been burning for a while; he was impressed it hadn't gone out already. The Winchester stood, untouched, at Kali's feet, just as he had left it.

Allan would avenge his death… he had promised that to himself from the moment Mrs. Harker had given him that rifle at the site of the crash. Though the Fantom hadn't been directly responsible, he had been the cause for the daredevil mission in the first place… if it hadn't been for him, Sawyer never would have had to step foot in that automobile. So it was that – as well as himself – Allan blamed their villain… as was the way of things. Heroes died, and the villain was to blame, without fail. It was the easiest choice.

Sighing, Allan stared down at the flickering flame.

They were going to need a new candle.

* * *

"Why?" Dorian repeated.

"_Why_?" Sawyer growled, giving another tug on his left wrist, anger in his eyes at the fact that the chain and the manacle holding him back showed no signs of giving to his feeble attempts. "We _trusted_ you!"

Dorian stared down at the chained boy, cocked his head just slightly and revealed, "Then you're all fools."

With one last thrash against his restraints, Sawyer exhausted himself, and with agony clear on his face, bowed his head to the ground, touching it down lightly so that his messy hair toppled around his face to conceal it from view. He panted, shown clearly by the exaggerated movements of his chest and sides; clearly in pain.

Of course, this was no surprise to Dorian, who had watched Dante amuse himself by hurting the spy with that blade of his. As he stood, he took his eyes away from the suffering form, and meticulously removed his sword from its cane-scabbard. He admired it in the light, turning it this way and that, before twirling it nonchalantly around his wrist, even as Sawyer propped himself back up against the wall, an irritating fire still evident in those somewhat clouded eyes. He was still fighting; Dorian had expected there to be less resistance now.

"Why don't you use it, Gray?"

Dorian looked down on him with a quirked brow, and huffed quietly. "Don't tempt me."

"I know you want to… you never did take kindly to my joining the _League_… now I know why." Sawyer shook his head, as if realising things. "I was a loose end; one that you didn't plan on having around. That's what made you said you'd join so quickly… you were worried I'd mess things up for you."

"Don't flatter yourself, boy," Dorian drawled, rolling his eyes. The American really was rather arrogant if he thought the immortal had ever been at all worried about his inclusion in details. It had just taken a slight rearrangement of things, that was all. "You were never any real concern. If you had come too close to anything – something I doubt; you were all so clueless – I would have simply killed you and blamed the thief."

Sawyer's glare was not lost on Dorian, who smiled.

"I do wonder what became of him though," he admitted curiously. "He simply vanished… though I suppose it is quite possible that the combination of that serum and his fear of being caught could have driven him over the edge. Perhaps he tossed himself off the tower." The thought made the immortal laugh quietly to himself as he eyed the blade of his delicate but deadly sword. "A shame… it would have been most satisfying to run him through for myself."

"You're a sick son of a bitch, Gray…"

"I know that, thank you," he agreed with a subtle shrug of his shoulders, looking down at the captive American with a degree of contempt in his eyes. "But what you have to remember is… I'm not the one chained to the wall now, am I?" He had crouched as he'd said this, staring the boy in the eyes intently. A cruel smile tugged at his lips as he held that defiant gaze… before Sawyer spat him in the face

With a sigh, Dorian pulled the handkerchief from his breast pocket, and wiped his face with it, looking to Sawyer almost in disappointment. "Americans really are quite crude, aren't they?"

In a flash, the blade of his sword was at Sawyer's throat, pressing his head back against the wall forcefully lest it cut him. The spy closed his eyes, but did not seem panicked by the threat at all. "It would be so easy…" he hissed at the boy, bringing his face just that little bit closer. He held himself perfectly still for a number of moments, hearing Sawyer's ragged, almost struggled breathing, before he pulled away, removing his blade from its dangerous position. "Sadly… it would be _too_ easy; there's no challenge."

Opening his eyes as Dorian stood, Sawyer scowled up at the immortal with disgust on his bloodied features. "Coward…"

With a growl of his own, Dorian moved forward and lunged with the sword, blade aimed for Sawyer's head or neck. He wasn't surprised however, when the spy ducked under the weapon with a gasp of surprise, barely missing the sharp edge by a hair's breadth.

Dorian snatched down and grabbed a handful of blonde hair, saying sharply into the boy's ear, "See? You _do_ want to live." Throwing the head down again, and standing, wiping his hand on his jacket laconically, he shook his head. "You really are quite pathetic, 'Agent' Sawyer… honestly, what have you ever accomplished of merit in your short and insignificant lifetime? Hmm?" Taking up the scabbard from the ground, Dorian quickly slipped the blade inside with only a whisper of metal as testament to its moving at all. "Apart from getting your partner killed, and yourself captured."

Sawyer stared up at Dorian hatefully, but the immortal saw the signs in that beaten body that told him the effect his words had truly had. There was an unmistakable sag in the shoulders, and a dimming in the eyes, which were somewhat moist with tears of either anger or pain. After a moment, the head lowered once more.

"You're brash, arrogant, stubborn and unwelcome, Sawyer… and _that_ is why no one cares if you _suffer_. Remember that as they torture you to death, won't you?"

With that, lifting his chin slightly with his small victory, Dorian turned on his heel, and left the cell and room respectively.

* * *

Practically collapsing against the wall, now more or less lying on his side after Dorian's swipe at his head, Tom frowned miserably, wiping the back of one hand across his eyes angrily.

_No… don't you **dare** think that bastard is right! You do that, and they're one step closer to winning; one step closer to breaking you._

Sucking in a harsh breath, Tom lowered himself to the ground, covering his head with one of his arms. After Dorian had forced him to move so suddenly to save his own neck, he had started to ache fiercely, and it was all he could do not to groan loudly in discomfort; he wanted to keep the sounds to himself… he didn't want anyone to hear.

_Where's the _League he thought with a hidden frown. _What's taking them so long?_ He couldn't remember how long he'd been here, in this place, but he knew it had to be over a day, at least.

But what if M was right…? What if they thought he was dead? He remembered Skinner telling him not to believe M for a second in what he claimed, but… as much as he hated to admit it, he did have a point. What reason did they have to think him alive? He had crashed the automobile into that old theatre, and only just managed to escape himself before it exploded… then Dante had found him, and knocked him out. The Winchester had probably been left behind, but who was to say it hadn't been blown from the car in the explosion? Perhaps Dante had destroyed it.

Thoroughly dejected now, Tom slumped against the floor and wall, head covered to hide his misery, as the potential truth in M's words hit home in their full harshness.

The _League_ probably thought he was dead…

* * *

Skinner knew there wasn't much time left, and as such, he was taking another look around M's vast fortress-cum-factory. It was gigantic, and it was all he could do not to sit down and take a break… but he was running on a tight schedule, and he had to rendezvous with the _League_ in the morning, if they were to keep to their arrangement that he'd laid out over a Morse message.

He was staring out over the dry-dock, shaking his head back and forth as a conning tower was winched high across the room, destined for being grafted to one of the shells of the recreated Nautilus… or rather, Nauti_loi_. There were eight under construction at the moment, but he knew there would be more to come. Glancing over his shoulder to the secondary factory floor, he gave an involuntary shudder at the armour casings that would house soldiers in the war to come… or rather, the war that M _hoped_ would come. They had an assortment of attachments, from Gatling guns to flame arms. Pulling a face, he looked back to the dry-dock one last time before rising to his feet. He had been crouched so far, though he wasn't sure why. Skinner could very well have simply stood there and waved his arms back and forth, but no one would have seen him.

Eva had offered him some of her rations when he'd followed her back to her room, just to memorise where it was. He had declined, having – in the past – learned the hard way that it was best to eat when one knew nothing was on the agenda for a few hours at least; it took food a while to digest enough to disappear within his frame. Food and drink could be seen on the way down, and once he had been spotted… simply by resembling a floating mush. He had told himself never to do that again… which probably explained why he was so thin.

Turning back on himself, he jogged between the lines of empty armour cases, feeling slightly nervous around them regardless of the fact that there was no one inside. He felt like they were watching him all the same.

After observing the main factory floor for a few minutes from up above, he endeavoured to head down to that level. Carefully, he found the steps and descended them, padding softly on bare feet lest he make too much noise as they slapped against the cold stone. Hard, harsh surfaces underfoot barely fazed him anymore, but more than once he'd stepped on sharp objects. If the scars on his feet could be seen, it would be testament to that; all part of the bane of being an invisible man – it required nudity to really have effect.

Pacing cautiously down between the double line of heavy-duty 'tanks' – as he had heard someone call them in passing – Skinner kept silent, but shocked nevertheless. To set these loose on any country would be to spell their doom, regardless of their own army. A fleet of Nautilus'; ranks of armoured, armed men; a convoy of tanks… it was madness, pure unadulterated evil.

Beyond the tanks were the furnaces, down below, with a drop that would surely kill any man unlucky enough to fall or be thrown… if the landing didn't kill them, having the misfortune of a poor aim and hitting the furnace innards themselves certainly would. They were glowing white hot with molten metal to be shaped for building M's weapons of destruction.

Furrowing his brow, he realised just how much damage explosives would make if places near the vats… quite a bang, in fact. Quite a _big_ bang, at that. He made a mental note to suggest this to the others when they rendezvoused.

It was getting late… he'd promised to return to Eva to perhaps go with her to see Tom if it was what M ordered… maybe he'd accompany her to the bastard's room. He might be able to save her from having to 'entertain' him again. He'd try at least, so long as it didn't mean his getting caught; he'd promised Eva he would be careful, and he would.

So it was that he retraced his steps, working his way back to Eva's drab room on the other side of the fortress.

* * *

Though she was worried, Eva trusted Rodney Skinner not to get himself into too much trouble. He had made a promise to her in the corridor earlier, and she believed he would keep to it so long as he could.

She was waiting for the Professor to call for her again. It was getting close to the time when he would… not that she was eager to be near him again, the vile creature that he was. She didn't know who she despised more; the Professor, or his hideous lieutenant, who seemed to take so much joy in causing others physical harm. The rather strange Mr. Reed had vanished; she had not seen him in some time… and as for the mysterious Mr. Gray… she shuddered. He unnerved her in a way she could not understand. She simply did her best to keep from having to go near any of them.

Looking to her small clock, she frowned.

Skinner certainly was taking his time.

****

**_To Be Continued…_**


	16. Countdown

**Author's Note:** I needn't even apologise anymore… d'oh. I am really sorry though; I don't know why I'm suddenly slacking so badly :( And I am also too lazy for acknowledgements this chapter... sorry! They'll be back in full force next chapter, I promise.

* * *

Lying on his back, staring up at the stone ceiling, he didn't really see anything… his eyes were blank, and when he blinked, he did it slowly, almost as if he were in a daze. He swallowed dryly and let out a slow, hopefully soothing breath. A twinge in his chest made his face screw up slightly, and he let out a low groan until the discomfort subsided enough for his normal breathing to continue. He went back to staring – unseeing – up at that chipped stone, with its nooks and crannies and inconsistencies and imperfections.

Tom closed his eyes for a moment, revelling in the comforting darkness he found there, where no one could hurt him and nothing could trouble him… until he saw _his_ face.

He refrained from shooting upright, but he did open his eyes, unnerved by the fact that he could find rest nowhere; not waking and not asleep. How was he supposed to recover if he couldn't simply close his eyes and go to sleep? Haunted by the image of his friend, Huckleberry Finn, dying… he knew he couldn't keep his eyes closed.

Not naturally anyway.

He'd lost count of the amount of times he'd been knocked unconscious, or passed out from the abuse forced on him. Tom just knew it wasn't good, and if he ever got to a real doctor, they would no doubt come across evidence of a concussion. Tom had been feeling heavy-headed and 'fuzzy' for a few hours now at least. He had trouble keeping his eyes focused, and his brain couldn't comprehend much of anything. On top of his other injuries… Tom knew he was in trouble. The human body was never supposed to take this much punishment.

But then, Tom had seen people survive worse. He had, unfortunately, seen torture victims after their ordeals, and he could vouch for the fact that many had survived such horrible treatment that made his seem trivial, and made him feel childish and pathetic to even comprehend complaining.

With a light sigh, he thought he heard the bolt shift on the door. Without turning his head – not that he thought he could and still raise it again – he heard the approach of feet, dressed in heels. He relaxed a little, and drew in another breath that raised his chest, and both the grubby shirt and waistcoat covering it. Eyes closing again for a short while, he heard the key in the cell door, and the main portal close again with a heavy and solid clang. The bolt went across again, even as the heels came over to him. He felt the figure kneel beside him, and the way their skirts brushed his arm.

"Is he asleep?" asked a voice he recognised at once, and he jumped in with a mumbled response before the woman could.

"No he's not." He opened his eyes halfway, and looked up at Eva's face bowed over him. "I wondered where you'd gone, Skinner." He had realised quite quickly that Skinner had left him alone, and at first, he hadn't been able to comprehend why. It had panicked him somewhat; he thought that perhaps the guards had caught him… but then he realised that the thief must have followed Eva Draper. This confirmed his suspicions. Skinner had gained Eva's trust; that was comforting at least, if only to some small degree.

"How are you feeling?" Eva asked gently, and he noticed she had brought a case like before, no doubt filled with the same sorts of supplies. He also noticed she had a bowl with a cloth and some ice, with which to treat his chest wound again, to try and soothe it… not that he was against the idea.

"I've been better," he admitted, reluctant to move, though his back ached something fierce from where Dante had both punched him and cut him with his knife. "But I'm sure I'll live."

_Bad joke and bad timing._ He was vaguely aware of the thought flitting through his brain, but he ignored it.

Eva forced a small smile, and settled herself as comfortably on her knees as she could. Wherever Skinner was, Tom couldn't tell; he couldn't even hear any bare feet moving, if Skinner had moved at all. "Would you rather remain where you are while I treat you again… or do you think you can sit up?"

Tom tried to think about this seriously for a moment, to see if he could muster the energy, but when he failed to do even this small and simple task, he sighed lightly. "I think I'll stay right here…" he muttered almost in defeat.

"All right," she acknowledged, and he detected the faint hint of sympathy in her voice. He heard her going about her business as she had before, but with more rhythm, seeing as she knew what to do this time, and where.

Skinner announced his presence at the other side of Tom, near the wall, with care and slow caution, so as not to make the spy start. First he laid a hand on Tom's left leg to show where he was, and then said, "Sorry I vanished on you."

Tom chuckled groggily. "Very funny."

Skinner paused before laughing quietly as well. "Not quite what I meant, but it's good to see you laughing." After only a moment, he continued once more, "I followed Miss Draper here, to see if I could find out anything. Turns out she's on our side… but I suppose you knew that all along, or you wouldn't have let her help you… stubborn bugger."

Tom turned his eyes to where he imagined Skinner's face might be, and quirked a brow lazily. He didn't say anything against the accusation, simply let it hang, knowing it was only in jest; an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Have you heard anything?" Tom asked, knowing Skinner would understand his somewhat cryptic message.

"Nothin' yet, Sawyer. But then, I don't think they'd respond to this location. Might give away that whatever M had planned didn't work."

Tom's mind fell over the words for a while, before he simply moved his head up and down once in a kind of nod.

"Has anyone been in 'ere since Eva left last time?"

Tom drew in a breath quickly as the woman in question laid the cold ice pack against his chest, having parted his shirt a little to do so. "Just Dorian."

The concern was clear in Skinner's voice as he asked, "What happened?"

"Not much," Tom sighed. "Usual snobby gloating. Nothin' he didn't do before."

"This Mr. Gray," Eva began hesitantly, as if reluctant to interrupt, "he is the invincible one you spoke of?"

"Yeah, unfortunately. He's the one I'd most like to stab in the face." As if regretting what he'd said in front of a lady, Skinner cleared his throat awkwardly and muttered, "Sorry."

Eva muttered something that Tom did not hear, but he assumed it was an acknowledgement or something of the like. Either way, no argument ensued, so he guessed nothing offensive had come about.

"So you expect this team of yours to come? Even after what the Professor has said about their destruction?" Eva inquired. She looked from Tom on the ground to the vague area Skinner resided. "I have heard him speak of this to his Lieutenant and his other man, Reed."

"Reed?"

"Yes. Though I have not seen him in… many hours. I cannot say why."

Tom closed his eyes again for a short while, roused once again when Skinner said, "D'you reckon he could have left the fortress?"

Eva shrugged delicately. "Perhaps it is possible… but this weather is vicious. He would have to be mad to brave it."

"Well, he works for M…" Tom muttered, the most he could offer for input. He was taking comfort in the fact that the ice was soothing the pain in his chest, as it had before. Coughing quietly, he lay still again.

"Sawyer's got a point. Maybe he did leave… but it's probably nothin' to worry about." Skinner sighed quietly. "If it's the bloke I think it is, he's just a businessman… nothin' but a bureaucrat."

Eva removed the icepack for a moment, laying her feminine palm down on Tom's chest, making him pull in a breath. Softly she asked, "Is the pain better?"

"Yeah," he breathed. "A little."

She nodded, and asked if she could unfasten his shirt – she had refastened it after treating him before, her attempt to keep him warm or comfortable. He acknowledged that she could with a nod, and she removed the buttons from the holes, checking his bandages. He felt her touch the one at his side, where he had had the blade driven into him not long into his captivity. He heard her sigh, and looked to her briefly, but long enough to know that the dressing needed to be changed.

"How bad is it?" Skinner asked quietly, and if this was because he hoped Tom wouldn't hear, the American considered being offended… and then realised that took too much effort.

"I am no doctor," Eva admitted with almost a hint of shame in her voice. "I cannot say, but… this wound needs to be closed and treated by someone with knowledge of medicine far beyond my own. The burns and the blow to the chest… the cuts. I… I can only do so much."

Tom closed his eyes again, noticing the awkward silence that ensued after Eva's observations. His head lolled slightly to one side, before the face flashed again, with an internal scream of pain, and he sucked in a breath, startling himself awake. Eva touched a hand to his shoulder to try and calm him, and Skinner to his leg, even as Tom started to cough harshly, screwing up his face as he did so, his chest violently fighting against him and his lungs as he tried to breathe.

In his clouded mind, the only thing he could think to do at that moment was to roll over and brace himself on his weakened arms at the elbows, his forearms flat on the cold stone floor as the internal assault continued, making his throat raw. Eva's hand hovered just over his back, and eventually touched to it, rubbing up and down gently so as not to hurt him where he had already been attacked. Skinner seemed at a loss as for what to do, and simply crouched there, watching.

Tom's body shook with the force of the coughing, and eventually, after what felt like painful hours, he managed to stop, gasping and panting for breath, before a revolting taste filled his mouth, and he was forced to spit whatever had come up out onto the floor. Eva sighed quietly, and Skinner sat back against the wall, even as Tom stared down at the blood on the floor. He sighed as well, turning his head enough to look Eva Draper in the eye. He didn't need to read her expression to know that coughing up blood was a bad thing. A very bad thing.

_Damn Dante,_ was all he could think as he rolled back over to lie flat on the ground, caring very little if he landed on what he had just spat onto the ground. Eva and Skinner's eyes met over his frame, looking to each other as best they could when the latter was invisible.

Tom knew right then, even if he hadn't before, that he was in _deep_ trouble…

* * *

"Are you sure?" Dante asked, turning from the fireplace just long enough to catch James' eye in the mirror across the room.

"Yes." It was a simple reply, but one that conveyed everything necessary to acknowledge his intent. "If the boy is going to break, I want to be able to see it… without trudging all the way down to that cell he's in."

"So you want him in here again?" Dante quirked a single brow. "What if he escapes again? At least down there, he's–"

"What makes you think he's going to escape again?" James chuckled dryly, humourlessly. "Do you really put so much faith in the boy's will? He's weakening, Dante… you know that as well as I do. And if not in spiritual sense, then in the literal. He's badly wounded, and no doubt can't take much more." A maniacal glint overcame the man's eyes as he looked back into the mirror. "And I want to watch those last agonising moments before he resigns himself to his fate… I want to see my small victory."

Dante nodded after a moment. "I'll have the men bring him up when the girl's finished treating him again."

"Yes… the _girl_." James sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if she's more trouble than she's worth. Yes, she's very attractive, and… satisfying…" James paused for a moment, as if studying his own face in the mirror, before continuing, "But I saw it in her eyes when she returned after first treating the Yank; she's too compassionate."

Dante simply didn't know what to say there… so he said nothing, simply watched.

"Ah well, I suppose it was what I was expecting all along. It might help to break her if she sees Sawyer cave, after all." Smiling very slightly, he nodded to Dante, dismissing him from the room.

As Dante left, he saw that the adjacent room had been set up to 'accommodate' the American, and wondered just what torment James had in mind for the boy.

Whatever it was… the brat deserved it.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	17. Time Bomb

**Author's Note:** If I were to apologise, it would be unworthy of your acknowledgement, so I shall simply hope you all still care about this story, and… um… like this new part?

**Sawyer Fan:** Hope is good, yes… and I'm sorry I drove you crazy.

**Capt. Cow:** I know it's not fair, I'm sorry:( Whee! Cliff hanger of the week!

**Mellaithwen:** What DOES he have in store indeed? XD

**Scifirogue**** Kane:** More Tom torture? Whatever gave you that idea…? XD

**FrodoLijactress:** Glad you liked, and hope you like this one too.

**Funky In Fishnet:** Indeed I am, and thank you for the title XD Thankies!

**Ten Mara:** Mara is my dog's name, if I haven't said that before :) Ooh, and _Time Is Running Out_ is one of my favourite songs ever XD You know how to please…

**LotRseer3350:** Ominous is good… aheh. And don't worry; I have a plan for the ending.

**liberator**** of captured ang:** You don't? Oh dear, aheh-heh…

**DiabloCat:** Poor Tom indeed… I find it easier to say PT XD Thanks, about the picture!

**Leigh S. Durron:** Evil is me, yup, yup… as you well know ;)

**wakingbear:** o.O I'm getting a feeling you don't like Tom… I love him in the books, aheh-heh…

**Kezzah:** Thanks!

**AcidOverRideChic:** Eek; you 'tasted' the blood? Either you need to go to the hospital, or… um… did I draw you in that much? Aheh… thanks. Sorry for keeping you waiting :(

**Drakena:** Here's hoping…

**wicked-n-lazy:** Thanks!

**BloodMoonLycan:** Pummel! XD Thanks very much, buddy; glad you're enjoying!

**Ruby-servantof-eli:** The suspense! XD How I love it…

**Blue Autumn Sky:** Sorry you had to wait so long; hope you like it.

**kingleby:** XD Yay! Bat-beating-of-Dante-and-M is fun…

**WingLiger496 and GenoSaw623:** That's a long name… O.o You can find out what happens next now :)

**StriderX:** Sorry:(

And finally… with my deepest, futile apologies and guilt-ridden sincerity, I give you a new chapter of **Envenom!**

* * *

Allan was practically on tenterhooks as he waited for Captain Nemo to enter the room. The man had called a meeting of sorts again, and the Scotsman hoped it would satisfy his urgency; he hoped it would be to announce their imminent arrival to Mongolia, where they could hopefully catch the bastard who had killed Sawyer… M. The hunter was still keeping his suspicions to himself, about their apparent 'liaison'. He didn't need everyone jumping at him with questions at this point… it could wait; for all he knew, he could be wrong. And he didn't like being wrong.

Pacing probably wasn't helping the tensions in the scientists either. Mina Harker watched him with her cool crystal gaze. Henry Jekyll toyed with his scuffed pocket watch, opening and closing it with a light tapping rhythm, and occasionally actually looking at the time on the face. Blue-grey eyes lifted and gazed to Quatermain for a moment, before he said, "Perhaps you should sit down…"

"I'm fine." The response was blunt, and rather final, casting the room into silence, other than the clicking of the hunter's heels and the tapping of the doctor's watch. The vampire watched them both, before with a quick roll of her eyes, sat down herself. Knitting her hands neatly in front of her, she was still, but only for a couple of moments; it wasn't long before her attention practically snapped to the door. Not five seconds later, Captain Nemo was striding through them, regal and ready as always, clearly with something on his mind and words on the tip of his tongue.

Allan turned immediately to the man, all his questions blazing like keen fire in his eyes. Jekyll watched as well, his trademark anxiety making him shuffle his feet before the Indian spoke.

"We shall be stopping in approximately half an hour. We have discovered a point in the ice that makes it possible for us to break through safely."

"Finally!" Allan didn't care that his tone sang of impatience; they had danced around under these ice fields long enough. It was time for action. The hunter was going stir-crazy sitting around, feeling useless, on this 'boat' too long. The fact that it wasn't really a boat at all was about as important to him as Dorian Gray's safety at that moment, so he ignored his mental slip. "Then we can meet Skinner, at last."

"Yes," Nemo confirmed with a single nod of his turbaned head. "No doubt he will have much information to share."

"Or so we hope," Harker voiced ominously as she rose gracefully from her chair, her skirts shifting around her legs with only a whisper. Her eyes seemed almost haunted as the men looked to her. "As we have already said, we do not know for sure that our invisible man is still alive…"

"Well, we have to believe he is," Jekyll offered in the way of input, with as much confidence as possible. "Or we might as well turn and head back…"

They were silent as these words hovered between them; the doctor did have a point, and so all doubts as to Skinner's well-being faded away, like a bad memory.

But Allan knew, from experience, that sometimes bad memories never truly faded away… not really. They stayed with you; firm and reminding. Many people had said over the years that one learns from their mistakes.

Allan sighed; it was certainly taking him a long time to learn… he just kept making the same mistakes.

But if he could remedy them… if he could remedy _this_ mistake… he could find some small semblance of peace.

Or so he hoped.

* * *

Eva finished changing the bandages at last, touching a hand lightly to Tom's head as he leaned back against the wall. He was sitting up now, after coming to the conclusion that lying down might not be for the best, considering his injuries. Given that she wasn't a doctor of any kind, Eva could give him little in the way of advice, for which she felt rather guilty. But she did what she could for him, and she supposed that was enough; it was better than nothing.

Sighing lightly, she glanced around, wondering where Skinner had gotten to. She felt unnerved when she was unaware of his presence, and its placement, mainly because he could truly be anywhere… and what if he couldn't be trusted…?

"Hate to break it to you, Sawyer," spoke a voice suddenly off to Tom's left, and Eva cursed herself for starting ever so slightly, though she told herself she hid it well; "but I think somebody's comin'."

Tom sighed lightly, his chest rising faintly. His eyes opened halfway, as he muttered sarcastically, "Fun…" Closing his eyes again for a moment before forcing them all the way open, as shadowed and weary as they were, he asked, "Any idea who?"

"'Fraid not, kid," Skinner responded, and Eva imagined he might have shaken his head from side to side. She herself turned to look at the door, even as voices could be heard. A sudden fear gripped at her innards, twisting like a vicious hand, and she swallowed dryly, looking back sympathetically at Tom; whoever was behind that door meant no good… and the young American would be at the heart of whatever happened, most likely. She felt for him… and knew there was nothing she could do. That, in part, made her angry.

"Well…" Tom started simply, with as little pain in his voice as he could muster, "how bad could it be…?"

Neither Skinner nor Eva spoke in response, even as the lock on the heavy door was thrown back, and the barricade opened, revealing none other than Dante… the Professor's fierce lieutenant. Eva pulled in a shaky breath, and subconsciously found herself blocking Tom from view just that little bit more. Dante seemed to notice this, and quirked a brow with a dark chuckle, one hand clenched into a large fist, as if to strike. Eva thought she heard Skinner move backwards slowly, so as not to be noticed, and then shuffle carefully for the cell door; she didn't blame him for getting out of the way… she knew he wouldn't abandon his friend though, and that was the most important thing.

"What do you want?" Eva managed to ask, though not without 'respect' in her voice.

"Hold your tongue, girl," Dante told her gruffly, striding into the cell, and moving to stand in front of her and Tom, who was staring up at the lieutenant. If there was fear or apprehension in him anywhere, he didn't show it. The cruel man shifted his gaze from Eva, moments before he said, "Move aside…"

Though she didn't know why, she found herself remaining firmly in place, in what she supposed was intended to be read as bravery or determination; she was trying to help a friend, even though Dante could seriously harm her, and she was well aware of this fact.

Sighing, as if bored, Dante reached down, and grabbed Eva's hair in his fingers, wrenching her forcefully aside, before practically tossing her to the ground some distance away.

"Hey!" Tom yelled with all the fervour he could muster, clearly harming himself when he moved to protest, wincing badly and almost collapsing back against the wall again as he shifted his position. Dante laughed, and grabbed a handful of the blonde hair, twisting the American's head sharply and cruelly, almost for his own enjoyment than for any real benefit.

"No!" Eva whimpered, frozen in place for fear of what Dante would do should she move. While it was likely he would simply strike at her, it was also a possibility that he would cause further harm to Tom in order to gain compliancy from the young woman. She breathed rapidly, afraid… were it not for the still-open door to the room and the armed guards, she might have braved calling for Skinner's help… if he was still even in the room at all; it was possible he could have slipped out by now.

Tom's left hand was braced around Dante's wrist, perhaps to try and prize him off, but the young man lacked the strength to truly achieve anything in the way of release. He panted; eyes squeezed shut, trying not to move, lest he cause himself pain. Dante clearly didn't have a problem with such an incident, as he twisted more, forcing Tom to shift half his body round to save harming his own neck or tearing out half his hair. He whimpered quietly, drawing a grin from the wicked lieutenant, who glared at Eva, before saying, "Get out…"

"I was told to–" she began fearfully, before she was sharply interrupted.

"Get out!" he bellowed fiercely, yanking on Tom's hair and drawing a weak cry from him. "You were told to treat his wounds, and you have done just that… if you don't leave… I'll make _another _one for you to tend to."

Eva trembled slightly, wishing there was more she could do, before she heard Tom's struggled voice say, "Go…"

Closing her eyes tightly, she forced herself quickly to her feet, and darted for the door. She practically barged through the guards there, telling herself not to look back; she couldn't… looking at the sight again would have stopped her, and Tom had told her to leave.

* * *

Tom heard her rushed retreat from the room, thankful that she had heeded the words. While he was wary of being left alone with Dante, considering what had happened the last time, he didn't want any harm to come to the woman because of him… he couldn't bear to think about it.

"How very noble of you, brat," grumbled Dante with a hint of disgust and mocking. "Made a friend, have we?" He chuckled darkly, before his boot came into harsh contact with Tom's stomach, throwing him against the wall, as the lieutenant released his hair. Hitting the hard wall, Tom felt all his remaining breath leave him, and all but collapsed on the floor, covering his head instinctively, trying to breathe, managing only small wheezes if anything, pain swimming through him. A small, dark part of him realised he should be used to the pain by now, but he was trying to tell himself it didn't hurt… and failing miserably.

Feeling a tight grip close about his wrist, he braced himself for another onslaught… before he heard the clatter of the manacle falling to the floor, unlocked. The others soon followed, and he dared to bring his head out of its cover, looking in confusion to Dante, who glared down at him distastefully. Without warning, the hand grabbed in the scruff of the American's grubby shirt and waistcoat, heaving him up with little in the way of fight; Tom couldn't manage anything substantial, if at all. He was still fighting for air; the oxygen almost protested against entering his lungs, and it burned his chest to struggle for it, but he knew he had to.

More or less dragged out of the cell, Tom wondered where Skinner was. He quickly realised the invisible man would follow to wherever Dante was taking him, so he could be aware of the American's positioning. That way, he could continue to help… unless the Fantom killed him…

_Don't think like that_, he told himself bluntly, and that was the end of all doubt… almost. There was still a small voice telling him he was about to die, even as Dante parted the guards with little more than a snarl, permitting a passage through them for himself and his dragged captive. Tom kept on his feet as best he could, stumbling occasionally, but kept upright by the other man's rough grip, which tugged at the collar and scruff often, as if to jerk him back to awareness.

Tom used one of his own hands to grasp at Dante's sleeve, perhaps to steady himself or to free… not that the latter was possible. Dante was at full strength, clearly, while Tom was far from it. In fact, he felt weaker than he could ever remember… apart from perhaps when he had been sick as a child, but that was favourable to this situation. Well, _anything_ was preferable right now, he knew, but it didn't help to think about that when he could do little about it. Of course, he didn't like feeling so vulnerable; as a child, he had always been strong and energetic… right now, he hated himself for his weakness, so pathetic in comparison to when he had been ten, or less, even.

For how long they travelled, Tom was unaware, too busy trying to think of anything _other_ than his predicament; distracting himself was the only thing keeping him from giving in to despair or something of the like… he couldn't do that. It wasn't like him to do such a thing; that wasn't Tom Sawyer.

He didn't even realise they were in M's chambers until Dante tossed him roughly forward and down, where he hit the floor heavily. It took all the energy he could spare to force a roll, lest he break something, though something quite possibly jarred in his left arm, drawing a gasp out of him, as he lay mostly on his front, his right hand keeping him from falling facedown onto the carpet, as he panted harshly, his own breath deafening and rasping to his own ears, his eyes forced shut tightly as he tried to recover from the brutal landing.

A laugh echoed lightly around him, and he cringed; it was M…

_My life just keeps on getting better and better…_

"Welcome back, boy… so good to see you again." He felt rather than saw the man crouch down beside him, hearing him cluck his tongue as if in disappointed. "My, my… what _have_ you been doing? Look at the state of you… you're a mess."

_No kiddin'…_

Tom resisted the glare aimed at the Englishman, managing instead to simply open his eyes and turn them – with a struggle – towards M. He was met with an arrogant smile, not that he had expected anything less. He all but groaned at the sight of it, narrowing his eyes before closing them, touching his forehead lightly to the ground, hair falling limply and dirtily around his head and face; blonde locks clumped together on the left with blood.

"I'm guessing," M began with feigned consideration, "that you're in considerable pain."

Tom tensed… he didn't like the sound of that; as obvious as the stating of it had been.

A wicked whisper down his ear made him flinch; "Good…"

It was only seconds before Dante had hold of him again, hauling him turbulently off the ground, and into the next part of M's chambers, drawing a sharp cry out of him when he jarred the – either bruised or otherwise damaged in a worse manner – now-hurt left arm. His side flared viciously like it was on fire, and his chest wasn't long in mimicking. He was forced to kneel, though a strong part of him wanted to simply collapse onto the floor completely. Breathing unevenly, he felt short-chained manacles lock about his ankles again, and a very light sigh escaped him, eyes closed, even as Dante pulled one of his arms up. Tom winced, hissing through clenched teeth at the tug, before it was locked upward, the other following not long after. Hanging his head for a moment, he forced himself to look up, where he saw his hands locked in a rigid cuff, long and solid. Chains, thick and sturdy – and very stiff, he realised when he tried to move – locked the bar up at the ceiling. Green eyes turned to M, who had been watching the whole time, and he panted roughly, chest heaving irregularly.

"Uncomfortable?" M inquired teasingly, pacing forward slowly; Tom never took his eyes off his tormentor, intent not to miss an action or expression. M nodded at Tom's silence. "I thought as much."

A sharp backhand across the face nearly robbed Tom of his consciousness altogether, even as M growled down his ear, "If you don't want to talk, that's fine with me… in fact, let's make sure you _can't_, hmm?"

Remembering Dante's threat on the ice fields in a vivid flash, Tom tensed again, as much as it pained him to do so, and without meaning to, he sucked in a breath. Whether or not M would go through with the horrific threat was beyond Tom; part of him knew it wasn't unlikely, but… the rest of him hoped it was.

He was mostly relieved when, instead of having Dante follow out on the threat, he felt a thick gag cover his mouth and secure at the back of his head, cutting off any sound he might make. Eyes closed as he was effectively silenced, he inwardly prayed that Skinner was nearby… and that the _League_ were on the way…

… If they were even coming at all…

**_To Be Continued…_**


	18. Fallen Embers

**Author's Note:** Would saying I'm sorry stop you from killing me…? … Didn't think so. Worth a try, I suppose.

**StriderX** You have no need to lose hope, so long as you're a patient individual. I'll always update, and I'm definitely finishing this story; don't worry. And you really are going to give me a fat head, as much as I appreciate your compliments, like you wouldn't believe. Very flattering. I do try to put a lot of emotion into the story, so I'm happy you pointed that out. Remember I have the end battle to do yet, so I may not be quite done yet, aheh…

**freedomfighter82:** Sorry I scared you. And I think, even though I made you wait, going after Dante with that bat would be more rewarding.

**KidBlink182:** I love writing Sawyer/Skinner friendship. I blame my friend Sethoz for getting me started with that, Heheh.

**Mellaithwen:** The _League_ are currently having Sunday dinner… just kidding XD Angst… ah, how I love it… perhaps too much. And I think 'git' is too tame a word for M, really.

**LXGFanGirl** Um… sorry?

**LostAngel2:** I'm guessing you like Tom's hair…? XD And thanks, but I'm cutting back on the cookies.

**Capt. Cow:** Arse kicking! It's on the way; don't worry. And the "Oh! You're alive" stuff too.

**DiabloCat:** PT indeed ;)

**AcidOverRideChic** Plot-thickening is good… normally XD

**Kezzah** Heheh, sorry to keep you in suspense. Hope you like the update.

**Funky In Fishnet:** Angst _is_ my favourite genre ;)

**Sawyer Fan:** I know it's later than I promised you, but here it is!

**Laura B:** Glad you approved of the chapter. And are you so sure you want to know what M has in store…? O.o

**wicked-n-lazy** Eep… hope you're not dead from my keeping you in wait for so long.

**denna5:** I'm definitely continuing it; don't worry about that. And, I'm not making any promises… XD You know what I mean.

**WL496:** And here's Chapter 18 at last.

**tonianne** O.o You have had a time haven't you… sorry to hear about that. I'm so very happy you like the chapters you read; very relieved and grateful. Thanks for your kind words; I appreciate them.

**Ten Mara:** Um… Mara _was_ my dog's name. sadly, she died last month, but I'm okay now. Hope you like this new chapter though. Thanks!

**HauntedPast** Aheh, thanks very much.

**liberator**** of captured ang:** What makes you think I'd kill Tom, hmm?

**Alyssa Halliwell:** Thanks very much!

**Shakai** Nah, you don't sound sadistic. Remember there are other people reading this and not turning away in horror ;)

**Lauzjamin** Yay! Angst fan! XD

**Silverkitcat** It all seems to rest on Skinner, doesn't it…? O.o

**Falling star:** Thank you very much! I'm very glad you like my stories. Have an update!

**Lonejedi** I am going to finish, yes. I have the terrible habit of getting so many stories and characters on the go that it's a trial to get them all to take their turn… aheh. Here's an update at last.

And finally, here's the new chapter of **Envenom…**

* * *

Eva was well aware of where Lieutenant Dante had taken Tom, and also knew she would probably not be permitted to see him again, and if at all, only for short periods of time; no doubt supervised. In more ways than one, this hindered her and Skinner, who had been hoping to free the American somehow. In the space of ten minutes, she had – under her breath – uttered all curse words to her knowledge, and stood in the room, with the invisible man not far away. He had offered her more words to better vent her pent up frustration, but she had thanked him and declined, already feeling a little relieved for the release she had gathered with what she did know. At the time, her mind was on other matters.

"How long until you meet with your friends?" she asked Skinner, imagining he looked to her then. She also found herself oddly wondering what colour and shade his eyes were. Given that she would probably never know for certain, and was too timid to ask, she pictured them as blue… a cool blue, with a cheeky intelligence, no doubt. Skinner really was smarter than he let on, she knew.

"A few hours," he replied with a sigh in his voice. He clearly wasn't happy with the arrangement, and Eva sympathised. She sighed also, allowing her shoulders to slump somewhat.

"What are we to do until then?" she asked with just a hint of desperation; she could not hold it back, and was almost ashamed, before telling herself that it was a very human emotion and she should not feel guilty for it.

Skinner sighed again, his voice quiet and dejected as he muttered, "I don't know…" She felt his eyes on her face as he added, "Here's hopin' the kid can hold out 'til then."

* * *

Holding back from slipping into unconsciousness again, Tom rocked his head back, as much as it ached to do so. A low groan slipped out of him, and his teeth clenched down on the gag briefly. The smell in the room was heavy with some kind of incense, and he groggily guessed it was because of the fortress having been abandoned for so long before becoming the base for M's operation. Frankly, Tom hated it, and it made him want to retch; he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. There was the sound of the fire crackling in the other room, out of his sight, and he closed his eyes slowly, hearing the footsteps as someone moved around not far away. He guessed it to be M, and when he felt his head pulled back, he looked up to confirm his suspicions. M looked down on him rather blankly, but with that ever-present hint of disgust and triumph. The man's other hand pulled the gag from his mouth, and Tom drew in a deep breath, even as M released his matted hair, his head dropping forward like a lead weight.

When M crouched in front of him, Tom wearily lifted his eyes, and subconsciously noted the change in the man's hair style and colour. It was suitably more carefree now, and rather blonde, somehow. It bothered him very little, but it was when M spoke that Tom noticed the biggest change; "I haven't crushed that spirit completely yet, I see."

Instead of upper-class and firm, the tone was somewhat more relaxed… and actually reminded the American very much of Skinner. Tom regarded him with heavy eyes, his head wanting nothing more than to drop forward again and stay down. He couldn't allow that though; it would seem submissive… it would be like admitting defeat. "Not yet," he rasped with a sufficient amount of mustered scorn.

M laughed quietly, shaking his head. "You're just making it harder on yourself," he grumbled, but still with that infuriating smirk. "It'll only be more painful for you, boy."

"I am _not_ a boy…" Tom growled, eyes closing for a short time as he fought the urge to lash out, even though he knew he could not, and should not regardless of any restraint holding him back. Even if he had been free of the chains, he would have only hurt himself by striking out; he was in agony – silent as it was – and knew better than to force more injury on his own body in any way. He had to try and hold back from spurring anything further… it could very well mean his end. His body couldn't take much more, he knew. He could feel it; giving in, piece by piece… slowly but surely.

"Oh, yes you are," M argued bluntly. "Very clearly so." He sighed, almost disappointed, and regarded the kneeling American as if he were inspecting him. "Look at you… a man could take so much more." He paused, letting the words cut into Tom, and then leaned closed as the agent opened his dull eyes. "I've broken the body before the mind… but it's still _broken_…" Viciously, his hand lashed out and landed against the bandaged stab wound in Tom's side, eliciting a strangled cry from him as the Englishman applied more and more pressure. He tried to hold back any further signs of his pain, but a whimper tore its way free, obviously pleasing M enough to make him laugh with delight as he pulled back. Tom visibly slumped in his chains, the further strain on his arms almost throwing him into the blackness that swarmed at the edges, waiting to claim him, but he clenched his teeth together, hissed in agony, and let out a slow breath, more like a gasp than anything, his heart thundering in his chest as he tried to recover.

"You see?" M began anew, rubbing his thumb over his fingers and smearing the blood there. Upon noticing the crimson on the man's skin, Tom's eyes sank to his own side, where the bandage had been newly stained. He cursed under his breath, and let out a gasped groan again, even as M continued, "A real man would not cry like a boy." The bloody hand took hold of Tom's bottom jaw and lifted his head upward, forcing the green eyes into blue. "He would bear it… he would not show it." Leaning closer, he whispered harshly into Tom's ear, "And you, my _boy_, are showing it…" He pulled back, adding, "And quite pitiful, it is too."

Tom's eyes closed as the grip on his jaw tightened for just a moment, before being released altogether. His head dropped forward heavily and fully, and his face screwed up in something not too unlike despair.

"You know…" M began as he slipped Tom's gag back into place, mockingly ruffling his hair afterwards and catching several knots which painfully tugged, "you really do give Americans a bad name." His laugh was cruel, and drove into the anguished agent as he tried to breathe properly.

With that, M trudged away, but not before brushing rather forcefully past his captive on the way, drawing another groan out of him, the sound muffled by the thick cloth in his mouth.

_They're not coming_, was the only thing that dejectedly circled in his mind as he knelt there, wanting nothing more than to completely collapse to his side and pass out indefinitely. He couldn't help but feel some loss of hope; if the _League_ were coming, then where were they? Why hadn't they crashed through the doors and rescued him yet? Why hadn't they come? Again, he could conjure only one answer to these dismal questions.

_They're not coming…_

* * *

Mina's light, soulful eyes looked down at the burnt-out and melted candle again, even as she felt the shudder within the vessel around her. A sigh slipped past her red lips, and her gaze rose to take in the form of the redundant Winchester. Quatermain had been more affected by the loss of Sawyer than he was letting on, Mina knew… time had taught her to see… beyond the obvious. A wan, sad smile touched her timeless features for just a moment; an instant that was soon lost as she closed her eyes. They would have their vengeance.

_She_ would have her vengeance.

When her eyes opened again, they were fading from blood red to sky blue once again, and she heaved out another sigh; her emotions were weighing her down; it would be best to vent her anger as soon as possible, and hopefully as helpfully as she could as well. In other words; the sooner she destroyed Dorian Gray, the better.

That was when the door behind her opened quietly, and Henry Jekyll slipped inside. He made very little in the way of noise, but she smelt him; sensed his presence, as he approached, closing the distance with precise movements. His nervousness and apprehension had waned, seemingly; he was more confident and determination radiated from him gently like lazy waves in the ocean. She did not turn her eyes from the monument even as he said smoothly, "The Nautilus is about to break the ice." There was a pause. "I thought you might want to… come to the bridge."

Mina blinked slowly. "Yes," she breathed. "Thank you."

Jekyll crouched, laying something down, and when the female vampire followed him with her eyes, she saw the new candle, even as he lit it silently and calmly, but with an air of sympathy most befitting of his doctor title. A sorrowful smile touched her face, and she bowed her head just a fraction as he stood, shaking out the match.

"That's better," he murmured, an expression of faint hope and memory on his own face. She looked to him, and nodded.

"Yes," she said once again, "thank you…"

And with that, they turned for the door, her eyes lingering on the new flame just briefly before she followed Jekyll from the room, and to the bridge.

* * *

Captain Nemo was observing things seriously but stoically, feeling the creaks and groans of his vessel around him; her sighs and complaints… but he also felt her strength and her fight; she was winning. Ice would not defeat her.

The door behind them opened and permitted entry to Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Harker, who were both quiet as they came up to stand on either side of the proud and determined form of Quatermain. He bore a silent anger in his wise eyes; his face showed his need for justice. He would see M defeated. Nemo almost smiled.

To fight alongside such powerful warriors, strong in both body and mind – not to mention spirit – almost made him completely rethink his opinion of the English. If they could produce such fine soldiers as the three standing not far from him, then perhaps his view was somewhat incorrect.

If only _somewhat_.

With a mighty shake and groan, the Nautilus surged up, and the ice cracked and tore above and around them, splitting skyward with a thunder as if from the heavens. Great sheets of it, meters thick, rocketed up, and fell back, away from the grand conning tower of his powerful submarine. Inside, he did smile; his Lady had not failed him. He nodded just subtly, as if in approval, and turned to his companions.

"The frozen lakes of Mongolia," he stated simply, and they returned with nods of certainty. Their goal was near… the battle drawing ever closer. He gestured for Patel to fetch the items he had requested, and the _League_ were soon donning warm coats and gloves, before they moved to the ladder column just outside of the bridge. Nemo went first, leading the way, venturing out onto the conning tower with only a slight furrow in his brow. He had anticipated cold, but perhaps not to this degree. He almost chuckled at his own naivety, no matter how minimal. The others followed him out, the snow falling around them as they strode cautiously to the railing. Nemo drew a pair of binoculars from his coat; Quatermain and Mina also as they stood with him at the edge of the tower, lifting them to their eyes so that they could better see their surroundings. Jekyll stood back from them somewhat, his arms wrapped around him as if to better keep the heat in, and the chill out.

"Peasant settlements," Quatermain stated out of the blue, his binoculars pointed towards the small, rundown shacks set out in the snow spread before them like a cold canvas. "They're all deserted."

Nemo too had reached the same conclusion. Clearly the structures had not been accommodated in some time; the land around was undisturbed. Mina did not take her eyes from her own set of binoculars as she asked, "_Why_ deserted?"

As if on some unknown cue, an ominous glow came from behind the low mountains behind the settlements below, and all eyes fixed on it. The clear sign of industry was like a sign pointing the way.

"Fear, no doubt," Nemo responded simply, but with a fine edge. M had driven these people out… he did not wish to think on the alternative. He despised the man enough; he needed no extra incentive.

Jekyll spoke then, with a definitive shiver to his voice, "How long until our rendezvous with Skinner?"

"Three hours; give or take," Quatermain responded with cold confidence. Nemo had no doubt he was internally counting down, like a timer; he was anxious to leap into the final battle.

Nemo supposed they all were. Even as he lowered his binoculars, he could not help but sympathise.

The sooner they ended this madness… the better.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	19. In The Palm of Our Hands

**Author's Note:** _:whimpers in apology:_ I didn't mean it… you all know how evil writer's block is. I really am sorry. Hopefully it won't happen again, and as you'll be able to tell from this chapter, it's getting near the end now. Another thing to note is that I've swayed from the movie's timing somewhat. Not that it really matters, but the main thing is that M's changed his look before the _League_ have even ambushed the fortress… but oh well xD Doesn't matter, right? Thanks to **_everyone_** who read/reviewed the last chapter, and I hope you enjoy this one too.

* * *

_"Just a little while longer, Tom… just a little longer. Hold on…"_

_Lifting his head, and struggling intensely to do so, Tom pulled in a shaky, forced breath, wanting to rise from his knees. He had spent so long at this level; it seemed so submissive… so defeated._

_"Just hold on."_

_Shaking his head slowly back and forth, he let it drop forward again as a hand rested down on the ground. "I don't know if I can…"_

_A hand touched his shoulder gently; sympathetically, but carrying a strength that was intended to be shared. Tom lifted somewhat clouded eyes to look at Huck, who stared right back._

_"Of course you can. 'Defeat' isn't in your vocabulary, Tom." He smiled faintly, a passion in his eyes; he was trying to make Tom remember; remember his own strength and resolve. "It won't be long."_

_"They're not coming…" It was almost a shaking sigh more than words, and his head dropped again. Huck's other hand rested on it softly, and though he couldn't see it, he practically felt the other man's frown._

_"Please don't give up…."_

_Tom's voice nearly broke when he said, "God, it hurts…"_

_He felt the hand on his head, and tried to draw strength from that as he felt tears break through his defences, dropping to the ground even if he remained silent._

_"Please," Huck pleaded in a whisper. "If he wins… it's all over. Don't let him beat us."_

_Tom gave a quiet sob of a noise. He'd lost Huck, in reality. "This isn't real," he whimpered. "You're gone…"_

_"Only if you let me go," Huck reminded him. "Don't let go. **Hold on**…"_

_Lifting his head painfully, Tom locked exhausted eyes on his best friend's face, seeing the hope and pleading burning in the eyes like a bright fire, and he shook his head. "I can't do it alone, Huck…"_

_Words came from his dead partner without his mouth moving, in a whispering, haunting and yet somehow strong and comforting tone; "You're never alone…"_

* * *

Skinner didn't want to leave Eva, but she had insisted, reminding him that he couldn't miss his rendezvous if there was to be any hope of saving Tom and destroying 'the Professor'. The thief still didn't understand all this business with having so many names; couldn't the man be happy with just one? No, he had to have about four. M, The Fantom, The Professor, James… it was hard to know what to actually refer to him as. Everyone seemed to call him something different.

_Awkward bugger_, he thought as he trotted towards the exit, keeping his eyes open for any sign of being spotted. The corridor he jogged down was smoky almost, and he could faintly see his own arms at his sides if he looked; their shapes pronounced in brief intervals as he disturbed the clouds. He made a point of trying to avoid it, but it didn't take him long to clear it. Good… he never had much liked being in danger of being spotted when he shouldn't be. The exit was only a short way away. He had wanted to check on Sawyer before heading out, but M's doors were locked and unless he waited around for someone to be let in, then there was no chance of his getting inside. Unfortunately. He had wanted to ensure he was still 'all right' before telling the others…

In truth, Skinner wasn't really looking forward to that. To telling the others when they had probably assumed the worst… they'd have the thief's head. But it was something that had to be done, he knew. He had to tell them that, not only were they in charge of stopping M, they also had to rescue Sawyer. Skinner actually planned to volunteer to free the kid himself, since he knew his condition and location and all. It made sense to him at least.

Stepping outside, he nearly cursed audibly at the sheer bite of the cold, and how it sank into the bottoms of his feet and nipped viciously at his poor exposed skin.

_Bugger me_, he settled for thinking viciously as he checked on the location and focus of the guards, before setting off for the coordinates where he had assured the others he would be at the allocated time. He had about an hour to meet them, and it would take most of that to make the trek. He hadn't realised how long it took to trudge through the thick, crunching snow, but he'd estimated, thankful for his precaution. He didn't want to be late. Quatermain would kill him.

* * *

"There," Quatermain voiced to Mina Harker at his side, indicating the almost vicious fortress down below them and a way off. Fire belched from furnace towers into the sky, melting the snow around them in the blink of an eye.

"Lovely…" the vampire muttered with a noticeable degree of sarcasm, blue eyes never leaving the dark building.

"This is where Skinner signalled he'd meet us," the hunter reminded the others, including Nemo's men who had been brought along with equipment and extra firepower. "So we wait."

Nemo nodded, indicating for his men to follow as the dwindled _League_ led the way along the edge to a nearby shelter in the form of a cave. Quatermain trusted to his instincts as he scouted the area, searching for any kind of resident predator that could live in the cave. It had been occupied at one time or another, but there was no recent evidence of an animal, like a carcass or droppings or footprints, so he assured the others it was safe for them to wait in until Skinner arrived with his news.

They set up inside, arranging to light a fire to raise the temperature and hopefully temporarily lift spirits as well, and perhaps to make some food or tea over during the delay. The crew sorted equipment and supplies at the far edge of the cave, while Jekyll checked on those few men who had been affected by the drastic cold of the fields they had trekked through. Quatermain watched all this, even as the fire was lit, with a kind of detached interest, before he volunteered to stand watch for Skinner… and anything else that might happen along.

Taking his prized elephant gun outside with him, he pulled off and pocketed his gloves; he would need full use of his hands to operate the gun, and the gloves did not allow for the cocking of hammers or pulling of a trigger, nor for the real grip that only bare hands could give. He took up a seat on a convenient rock to the right of the cave's mouth, adjusting his goggles on the top of his head as he did so, ensuring they did not get in the way.

It was a sea of white set out before him; a kind of abyss. It was hard to see more than five feet in front of his own face, but he narrowed his keen eyes, and kept his other senses on alert for any sounds or smells.

And he waited.

* * *

Dante let himself into the room with the key that James had given him, intending to give his report to the man who was poking at the fire not far away. The light eyes turned to him, and he smiled almost in childlike anticipation of what his lieutenant might tell him.

Glancing briefly through the partition in the room, he saw the boy's mostly still form; he looked more or less unconscious, if not completely so. Not that it mattered either way. If he heard, then so be it. He could do nothing with any information he might overhear.

"Things are almost ready," he said to James, who beamed in something almost like delight.

"Good. Just what I like to hear, Dante."

Dante chuckled, nodding his head. "Final preparations are underway. The case is being put together as we speak."

"Excellent." James nodded, putting the poker aside in satisfaction. "Not long now then."

"Not at all. Two hours at most, for everything to be in order."

James nodded again, moving to his chair and sitting in it, offering Dante a drink as he did so; one that the lieutenant accepted. It seemed he had been on the go for hours now, and a little relaxation wasn't about to go by without his taking full advantage… if only a little. He was more than eager to get things moving; he felt like a boy on Christmas morning, waiting to tear open his presents. The anticipation was maddening.

"Have you heard from Reed?" James inquired as he regarded the dark liquid in his glass.

"Not long ago, actually," Dante responded. "He seems to be in perfect health."

"No unfortunate side-effects?" Receiving a shake of the head as a reply, James grinned. "Very good. That's one successful test, then."

Dante nodded in confirmation. He was actually eager to try one of the others for himself, but it was not his decision to make. It was up to James as to who would be the 'guinea pig' for the other two samples. The vampiric and the… he wasn't sure what to call the other one. The 'Hyde serum', he supposed.

"And where's Gray?"

"In his rooms, as far as I know," Dante said in return. "Haven't seen him in a while."

James made a small noise. "Only a matter of time before he _demands_ to have his painting back," he grumbled. "Ugly thing that it is." He looked to his lieutenant, who, unlike his superior, had not seen the portrait. And he didn't much care to either. It was none of his concern. So long as the immortal did what he was meant to do, then Dante couldn't care one way or the other what happened to him and his picture.

James was gazing towards the partition and stairs that led to the captive American, even though he couldn't see the boy himself, and Dante watched.

"What are you going to do with him?" the lieutenant found himself asking curiously.

"If there's time, then I'll take him with me. If not…" The light eyes turned deviously to Dante, who couldn't help but smirk; he knew what that meant. If there wasn't time, then the brat was Dante's to do with as he wished.

* * *

_Bloody stupid Mongolian weather!_

Glancing once more over his shoulder to finally confirm that he wasn't being followed, Skinner trudged on in chilled determination, shaking and hearing the chattering of his own teeth. He basically couldn't feel his legs at all, even as they continued to carry him forward through the snow and ice. His arms were following suit.

_What I wouldn't give for a scotch right now… or a nice old whiskey. Or even some sherry…_

Forcing himself to stop thinking about what he couldn't have, he pressed on, trying to make out shapes in the white flurry of a downpour. It couldn't be much further now, he knew. He was counting time as he went, and making sure his pace didn't drop or slow to anything that would throw off his timing. He had to make the rendezvous… even if it killed him. Not that it would, unless he ran into a—

Skinner froze, eyes staring at the animal not far away. Well, there was something he didn't think he'd see out here… not that he should have been surprised. He watched it, wondering if it would smell him, or hear him if he moved, and gave a curse under his breath. He noticed its lolling stride and the lazy swish of its large tail, and resigned himself to carrying on… before he noticed where it was going.

It was heading in exactly the same direction as he was; it was going to the same bloody place. Of all the crazy things… Skinner couldn't believe it. But he had no choice. He had to keep going. And besides, Quatermain would take care of it if it didn't turn off soon and head somewhere else.

Not that Skinner would be ecstatic to see what was obviously a beautiful animal put down by one of Quatermain's rather big guns, but if it posed a threat, then there wouldn't be much choice.

But the thief had to concentrate, and keep up his pace, which pretty much, by some random coincidence, matched the big cat's in front of him. He watched the way its broad, strong shoulders moved up and down across its back as it moved; watched the muscles ripple under a thick coat as it padded along. Skinner couldn't believe he was jealous of a _tiger_…

**_To Be Continued…_**


	20. Moment of Truth

**Author's Note:** I suck, I know. I daren't even look at when I last updated this, but I feel awful, and hopefully, that's something. Not much, I know, but it's better than nothing. In fact, I hadn't written this in so long that I managed to repeat myself a little in terms of Quatermain, but I liked it… so I left it. I hope it doesn't mess anything up, and again, I'm sorry for the wait.

I just looked at the date I last edited this story file on my hard-drive. Three months? Ugh, shoot me now :(

* * *

Dorian permitted himself entry to M's chambers, having never been one to hold back on getting what he wanted, even if this man did have 'something to hold over him', or however one chose to put it. It was time to finalise, after all. A few things needed to be cleared up, and the immortal had never liked loose ends.

He strode through the room, his eyes briefly straying up the few stairs to where he could just see the hanging chains and the apparently unconscious figure at the end of them, bowed over on his knees. The blonde hair completely obstructed his face from Dorian's view, and without further hesitation, he continued gracefully on his way, seeing the crackling fire in the wall. He spotted M in a lavish, high-backed armchair, pausing.

"Your painting's in your room," the man mumbled, as if he had more important things on his mind.

Dorian nodded faintly. Good. All was in order then. "In return for the _League_." He moved forward. "That was our deal, and I'm glad to see you honour it."

Without moving in his chair, M spoke again, his tone almost dark, "So what now?"

Thinking on the matter briefly, the immortal tossed his cane lightly upward and caught it with ease. "London," he remarked casually, moving to spin the cane elegantly around his fingers. "I've had my fill of violence, and now I'm in the mood for a vice." With a self-satisfied smirk, he aimed for the other doorway leading out of the rooms… there were too many doors to one set of chambers, he had decided.

"You could stay," M offered almost lazily now, making a vague hand gesture from where he sat, the movement visible off the side of the chair. "Share my dream."

One of Dorian's well-groomed brows quirked a fraction. He stopped walking. "I've lived long enough to see the future become history, Professor," he explained, using the other man's title without even thinking on it. "Empire's crumble." His expression darkened, his eyes boring into the back of that chair. "There are no exceptions." Gripping his cane with renewed intent to leave the room, he continued, even as M's voice carried from near the fireplace.

"You think you're better than me. You forget…" he muttered ominously, causing the immortal to falter, "I've seen your painting."

Dorian had stopped again, looking back only slightly, as if wondering at M's real meaning, when really, there was no way to confuse the matter. Dorian abhorred his painting; nothing would ever change that. In the beginning, it had ruined his life, and now, in reality, it was the _only_ thing that could _really_ ruin his life. And to think that people such as M could use it against him made his skin crawl. Without looking back, he walked purposefully to the door, and exited the other man's room, not being able to close the door quickly enough, if only to put some distance between himself and the 'Professor'.

* * *

Waiting was starting to feel a lot like putting off the inevitable. Mina Harker was determined to get into that fortress and destroy Dorian Gray. Utterly, if she could manage the task, given his apparent and complete immunity to harm of any kind. He had survived being riddled with bullets back in London… survived, only in order to betray them all. Thinking about it only made her blood boil anew, and so, she forced such musings from her mind. Sighing, she settled back a fraction more in the cave, on her perch, in the shape of a large rock that had jutted up from the floor of the cave.

They had gotten a fire going without too much trouble, and Quatermain had gone outside to keep watch. He had insisted it be him, despite Mina's sharper senses thanks to her vampirism; it was almost as if he was distancing himself from the rest of the team. Mina was no fool. She had seen men do this before, and she recognised the signs. Being alone was Quatermain's way of dealing with any guilt he had put upon himself after Tom Sawyer's death in Venice. He blamed himself for leaving the spy alone in the automobile, and now, sought solitude as a result.

No one in the _League _— or what remained of it — would interfere with that right, and so, left him to his guarding duty.

Captain Nemo watched the flames burn, the light reflecting oddly in his eyes as if his mind had drifted and left him with a singular focus, unaware of everything else around him. Dr. Jekyll tended to the crew that had accompanied them, treating any signs of the cold interfering with muscles and limbs, joints and the like. He was currently speaking in a low voice to some men at the rear of the cave, and Mina thought she heard him tell them to keep wrapped up. Faintly, she smiled, before glancing to the fire. She watched the heat dance in the surrounding air, and listened to the crackling of the flames as they ate at the kindling below.

With another sigh, she glanced in the direction of the cave mouth. For a moment, she thought she might have heard something…

* * *

Surrounded by a sea of blinding white, he narrowed his eyes against the light flurry of snow that persisted, falling down all around him, and melting against his now bare hands. He had removed his gloves to ensure he could work his elephant gun, which was currently braced over his lap readily. He was starting to lose a little feeling in the tips of his fingers, but so long as he could still move them all and work the rifle, then he was satisfied; as satisfied as he could be at that moment in time, anyway.

He glanced off into the distance, what little of it he could see, and paused, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He thought he had seen something. Of course, when his ears picked up on a change as well, he deducted that this was no trick of the senses, and hefted the gun, levelling it without rising from his seat. He had long grown accustomed to the weight. Never taking his eyes from the 'disturbance' in the snowfall, he waited… and then saw it.

He heard it too.

Pacing out of the snow was a large white tiger, a low growl rattling in his throat and chest as it padded closer to the hunter and his weapon. Quatermain's finger inched towards the trigger. It was a magnificent animal; it would have made a wonderful trophy… if his intentions here had been for the game. But that wasn't why he was here… and even as he met the oddly light gaze of the large predatory cat before him, he saw it pause. It looked right back at him, the growl fading to something like a murmur of curiosity and confusion.

It didn't take Quatermain long to come to the conclusion that they had set up inside this animal's cave; it's home, and territory. But instead of fighting and defending it's rightful place, the tiger simply stared at him, lifting its regal head a fraction as if to ask why the hunter seemed threatened. Still Quatermain did not fire, staring back at the beast. He saw the muscles ripple under its insulating coat of white, grey and black fur, and noted the sheer size of the tiger. It was a male; a lone male prowling his territory perhaps in search of food, or even just returning from a successful kill and subsequent feast in the snow. Not that rabbits made much of a feast for an animal of this size…

As he stared at the large feline face regarding him, Quatermain couldn't help but reach a silent understanding with the creature. He wasn't sure when exactly he stopped applying pressure to the trigger of the gun, but his hand relaxed around the weapon… and then he lowered it. He couldn't kill it. For the first time in his life, he couldn't kill. Perhaps it was more a case of 'wouldn't', but either way, the gun soon settled on his lap. He met the tiger's eyes again, wondering if he had imagined the flicker of respect and gratitude.

With a gruff sound at the back of its throat, the large tiger sprang from where it stood, spinning around in the snow and trotting away. It was almost as if it knew a gift when it saw one, and would come back later, when the strange animals had left his den. Quatermain stared after it, giving a gentle sigh; his breath formed a cloud in front of his face, which was when he heard the crunch of snow from the mouth of the cave to his left.

Nemo and Mina Harker had emerged, looking around and then at him in turn, as if wondering what had happened.

"We heard a noise," the vampire explained, her vivid eyes scanning the landscape visible through the flakes falling all around.

"It was nothing." Quatermain saw no point in reliving the tale; he was too old and too tired of stories. He'd been hearing enough of them about _himself_ over the last few years to satisfy him for a lifetime.

Nemo had been staring off at one particular point, before his mouth turned up just slightly into what was probably one of his more evident smiles. "Just an old tiger sensing his end?" he ventured, and when Quatermain looked, he could just see the tip of the cat's tail vanishing in the light blizzard.

He smiled, acknowledging Nemo. "Perhaps this was not his time to die after all."

Mrs. Harker smiled as well, though it was faint, showing she didn't understand their true meaning, but didn't need to in order to conjure the expression. She was about to either turn, or speak, when suddenly she gave a feminine yell, and whirled so that her back was facing the cave mouth, eyes wider. Quatermain shot to his feet, and Nemo straightened at once, both men ready for conflict.

"I've been waitin' all week to do that," a voice shivered.

_About bloody time_, the hunter growled mentally. "Get a grip, man," he grumbled, not at all amused by the invisible man's antics. He could see the faint outline of the thief; snow had tumbled onto his shoulders in order to frame him. The vampire's eyes were locked on that evidence of Skinner's position intently.

"Well, I thought I just did," Skinner quipped cheekily.

Mina Harker's gloved hand shot out, making a muffled slap of a noise as it connected with Skinner's face. She looked quite put out by Skinner's behaviour, but the thief merely gave a wry chuckle.

"Ooh, Mina…"

"Report," Nemo snapped, drawing the scene to a close before it could progress any further. Quatermain silently thanked the other man.

"Well hello to you too," Skinner acknowledged, and if Quatermain didn't know any better, he could have sworn the thief's voice lost its cocky edge; there was a sudden seriousness hinting in the tone. "Need I remind you, I am naked in the snow? I can't feel _any_ of my extremities." He paused, perhaps for dramatic effect. "And I _mean **any**_ of them…"

Mrs. Harker sneered subtly, even as Skinner moved towards them to enter the cave, and seek warmth. The vampire twisted her body out of the way so he wouldn't brush against her.

After only a moment, the three other _League_ members followed Skinner inside, leaving the blistering cold on the other side of the cave's mouth.

* * *

Skinner took his time in dressing himself, seeing no point in rushing through things and having the life choked out of him _before_ making himself presentable. On went the greasepaint and pince-nez, a welcome feeling once more, and he applied the thick coat and boots as quickly as humanly possible. He'd walked all the way through the snow without so much as a pair of socks, and he could barely feel the soles of his feet. Jekyll had asked him a few questions to guarantee good health, and after Skinner had ensured the doctor nothing was about to drop off, he had been able to finish pulling on his gloves.

_Much better._ He sighed, more a mental thing than anything external. All eyes were on him, but for once, he didn't like being the centre of attention. He thought it best to start with his reasoning for beating a hasty retreat; "With all the suspicion on the ship, I knew you wouldn't believe _I_ wasn't the spy. Well, I thought it best to just… 'disappear'." He took no notice of Jekyll's apparent embarrassment, or Nemo's pointed gaze.

"So what are we dealing with?" inquired Quatermain from his side. Skinner regarded him; there was a darkness in the hunter's eyes that he found rather unsettling.

"The fortress is vast." He said this heavily, with regret, as if they would have a tough time of even penetrating the castle-like monstrosity of a building. He had had no problem personally, but his entrance had been aided by that of M and his lackeys. He had simply slipped in alongside them. "Furnaces produce iron for making M's weapons of destruction," he persisted, looking around the cave and making the effort to stride away from Quatermain a fraction. "They're pieced together on the factory floor by a private army of ruthless men who share his vision."

He let his words hang for a moment, and then deemed the moment concluded.

"But the worst was to come," Skinner said to them, turning his shaded gaze upon them each individually in turn briefly. "In the dry dock… M's best minds pervert Nemo's dream."

He glanced to the Indian captain as the man realised the weight of the words, and his shoulders visibly dropped with the impact as he said disbelievingly, "The Nautilus?"

Skinner was standing beside Quatermain once again, head tilted to one side subtly, and he corrected, "Nauti_loi_. There's eight for now." He wasn't comfortable beside the hunter again already, but the older man had given him a pointed 'come back here and explain' look that was rather impossible to disobey.

Nemo pushed the subject on, but it was clear the last revelation had angered him… either that or disturbed him, as he asked, "What about the kidnapped scientists?"

"M holds their families hostage," Skinner revealed, with a slight edge, swallowing the sudden awkward lump in his throat. He still hadn't told them about Sawyer. The longer he left it, the harder it was getting. "The men work… or the women and children die."

He turned his head as he heard Nemo's practical growl of, "Monstrous."

Skinner took to pacing once again, and began anew, saying clearly, "Well that isn't the half of it. The scientists are forced to work night and day to make new versions of _us_."

_Stop putting it off. They're going to bring it up… after all, last you 'knew', he was with **them**._

Skinner pressed on with the explanation briskly, only delaying the inevitable, "Invisible spies; an army of Hydes; vampiric assassins. M leaves today with a sample case of the chemicals to sell to the most eager nation."

Jekyll spoke for the first time, and it was odd to hear the anger in his voice again as he said, "I'll not let my evil infect the world."

"Do you think any of us feel differently?" Mina challenged coldly from above the seated doctor, looking down on him guardedly. Jekyll did not respond.

It was with a cold dread that Skinner noticed Quatermain hadn't spoken since the explanations had started, and guardedly, he now turned his shaded eyes upon the tall, broad hunter. Sure enough, the white-bearded man was staring right at him. Immediately, Skinner became uncomfortable, and had to fight not to fidget.

"Notice anything different?" Quatermain asked quietly, but not without an edge. Again, all eyes were on Skinner… a sensation he was suddenly growing to _hate_. "Something missing, perhaps?"

Skinner heard the… was that hurt? It was an odd realisation, until Skinner realised how close Quatermain and Sawyer had gotten; how they'd bonded more like father and son than as friends.

"Well, I was getting to that…" he began almost nervously, trying to summon his courage and wondering where the bloody hell it had run off to all of a sudden.

Mina's eyes narrowed a fraction, and she stepped forward. Skinner almost instinctively moved back, but remained in place. If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn she was _smelling_ him…

Her eyes returned to normal, but her expression had softened… though not in a comforting way. It was now uncomfortable, and even confused.

"See… there's something I was tryin' to tell you, in that first Morse message I sent you back when I was on that little fish-thing of Nemo's."

"The Nautiloid."

_If you say so_, Skinner acknowledged Nemo's correction mentally, not even nodding on the outside. He had started now, and if he didn't keep going, he knew he never would.

"Yes," Jekyll murmured, apparently recalling the moment. "S-A-W… saw. What was it that you saw?"

Skinner scratched at the stubble on his jaw as he drew in a breath. His hand made a vague gesture even as he said, "Um, that's not what I was tryin' to say. I wasn't saying 'saw'…"

The rest of the _League_ regarded one another. And then finally — though Skinner was almost certain Mina had already figured it out by this point because of her smelling him — Quatermain looked back on the thief. His eyes were hard.

"Sawyer."

Nemo and Jekyll glanced at one another, and then back to the hunter and thief, now regarding one another fully.

"Sawyer," Skinner confirmed with a brief nod.

Mina apparently saw this as a good time to interrupt, "What about Agent Sawyer? We… found the site of the explosion, where he had crashed the car. We found his rifle." She waved a hand at Quatermain's second gun; the Winchester the spy had given to him upon their meeting. "But there was no sign of him… we…" She trailed off for a moment. "We thought he'd been killed."

Hesitating, Skinner formed the words mentally, before managing to say, "Well, see, the thing is… he…"

_Say it!_

"He's not dead."

_Did Quatermain just **growl**?_

"… What?" Mina's voice was practically a gasped whisper, but her demeanour had not changed; she was still wearing that almost crestfallen and yet still graceful look.

"He… M." Skinner resisted rubbing his hands over his face, and simply braced himself. "M's thug got a hold of 'im, and he was in that Nautiloid thing the whole time."

"And now?" Quatermain's voice was low, almost bestial.

"He's… in M's chambers." Skinner paused, adding quietly, "And not in a good way."

That was when it happened. Skinner felt large, strong hands grip him hard enough to bruise, and seconds later, he was slammed up against the cave wall. Given the rough interior of the cave, Skinner let out a gasp; he'd been poked in the back by a rather large protruding rock.

"How could you not tell us?" Quatermain growled darkly in Skinner's face, even as Mina and Nemo started forward. Jekyll looked too stunned to do _anything_, even as Skinner waved the others back; the hunter deserved his outrage.

"I didn't want you to think about Sawyer when you had to focus on _getting_ here first," he replied honestly. "I was going to tell you in that first message, but M's bloody thug nearly found me. I had to give it up! After that, I was just tryin' to keep the kid alive, and map out the fortress."

Quatermain gave him a shake, snarling, "He'd better be alive when we get there, Skinner…"

Skinner had lived on the streets long enough to know a threat when he heard one.

"Mr. Quatermain," Mina began firmly. "If we don't finalise our plans, and make a move soon, then he might not be." Quatermain's eyes spun on her fiercely. "You heard Skinner. Agent Sawyer is injured, and clearly needs our help if he is to be rescued."

"I would've helped him," Skinner said in his defence. "But I knew that if I helped him get free, then M'd know I was there. He'd kill Sawyer, and I would've been next."

"And for all we know, Sawyer _is_ dead," Quatermain hissed in a low tone, releasing Skinner, but not without one final shake. The thief remained in place until he was certain he wasn't going to get punched.

"Mr. Skinner clearly helped Agent Sawyer from the inside. We should not punish him for not only giving us valuable information, but for keeping our friend alive, when we had previously lost hope." Never before had Skinner been so happy to hear Nemo talk.

Quatermain seemed to take these words more to heart, but he made no move to apologise to Skinner. The thief didn't expect him to. After a few moments, the tension started to lessen, and he dared move further away from the edge of the cave. He stuck close to those who were less likely to throw him against the wall, and waited for their plans to come together.

_**To Be Continued…**_


	21. Dream I Do

**Author's Note:** I know, I know, I'm a bad, awful person:( I've kept you all waiting _months_ for this update, and… gah! I have no excuses. I am a bad, lame, awful, sucky person, and I should have things thrown at me X.x Like cushions, and peanuts, because if I'm ever going to finish this thing, I need to… be in one piece O.o Heh. Yeah, so finally, _finally_… here's an update…

* * *

_In reality, Tom Sawyer was awkwardly chained up on his knees, head bowed over in unconsciousness. But somehow, he found himself lying on his side, breathing with a struggle, eyes barely open. It hurt to use his lungs, and his mind was filled with torturous realisations._

_He was going to die… M was going to win… the _League _weren't coming… he was **alone**…_

_Lying there, barely moving, the anguished spy closed his eyes completely and drew in a shuddering breath; almost a sigh._

_When a shadow came over him, he barely realised; didn't react right away. His body and mind were so tormented and beaten that he could barely think, let alone hear and see properly. When a hand landed softly on his right shoulder however, he tried to recoil, opening his mouth to cry out weakly, yet no sound came out._

"_Easy, easy… don't move…"_

_Once again, Tom found himself looking up at his deceased partner. Huck was on his knees now, one hand touching in a brotherly fashion to the fallen spy's arm. His expression was grave and sympathetic, but edged with a solid determination that he had always shown in life as well. His brown eyes locked on Tom's somewhat faded ones, and he said, "Take it easy."_

"_Huck…" Tom's voice sounded weak; frail and almost child-like._

"_I know, Tom…" the other young man replied gently. "I know it hurts. It hurts more than you can take, but… they're coming. You **know** they're coming… you have to know that."_

_Collapsed on the ground, lacking the strength to even lift his head, Tom's face twisted into a miserable grimace. "They're not…"_

"_Please, Tom…" Huck bowed down lower, to meet his friend's gaze pleadingly. "**Hold on**… fight the pain. Just a little more… it'll be over soon."_

_Managing to lift his exhausted gaze, Tom locked his clouded eyes on his partner's face, swallowing dryly before whispering, "Yes it will…"_

_Huck's hand moved to the side of Tom's face. "Don't you **dare** mean that!" The shorter man's tone was harsh, but laced with brotherly affection at the same time. "**Don't**." The gentle eyes filled with fearful tears. "You can't do that, Tom."_

"_I can't…" Tom trembled weakly. "It's too much…"_

_Hand still at Tom's face, Huck shook his head. "No. Not it's not. You're stronger than this… **better** than this. If you quit now…" He couldn't finish his sentence, it seemed, and his voice broke, his head hanging. "Tom…" His gaze lifted, eyes begging. "Keep breathing… keep **living**…"_

"_You're gone, Huck…"_

"_Don't do it for me!" The older agent moved his hand, resting it against the back of Tom's head in his hair, keeping his tortured partner's attention any way he could. "Do it for yourself; for the _League_! They're almost here. It's almost over, and then… then you'll be free again. Just… please. Don't let go."_

_Tom's eyes closed despondently, and he gave a shaking, whisper of a sob. "It's so hard…"_

_Carefully, Huck lifted Tom, trying his best not to make things worse before he embraced his fallen friend. "Don't let go," he repeated quietly, supporting the blonde spy. "Hold on… don't let go…"_

* * *

M regarded his reflection in the mirror, rather liking the difference. To cast off the façade of English business and return to his true self was like lifting a weight from his shoulders, and he smiled. It was good to be himself again, and with a chuckle, he turned, walking to the partition in his chambers, glancing up the few steps to where the boy hung from his chains, barely moving save for the tortured rise and fall of his chest. M's smile did not waver; only grew.

He would be taking the boy with him, he had decided, so long as there was time. The last preparations were being made, and by nightfall, he would be back in that strange little submersible, on his way to Europe. As soon as Dante returned with the final samples, he would be ready to leave.

But until then, he was free to do as he pleased, he supposed, and what better…?

Moving to the door, he opened it, and told the guard to fetch the girl. Perhaps she would like to see the brat one last time, and of course, M felt he deserved a reward for himself as well. Lighting a cigarette, he wandered casually up the stairs, and proceeded to circle the boy. It was possible, he supposed, that the brat was faking it. With his free hand, he yanked back on the matted blonde hair, watching the face for any signs of consciousness. His eyes didn't even move behind the closed lids, and sighing almost in disappointment, M dropped the head again, watching it hang heavily; almost lifelessly.

If he hadn't enjoyed torturing the child so much, he might have been inclined to believe they had gone too far.

When the door down below opened once more, albeit quietly and almost tentatively, M grinned predatorily. "Up here, Miss Draper." He inhaled from the cigarette smugly, and was blowing out a steady stream of smoke when Eva Draper finished her approach. She paled noticeably when her eyes landed on Sawyer's chained, buckled form, and M's smile grew once more. Just the reaction he had been expecting. "I hope this doesn't distress you…" he remarked, subtly sarcastic. His free hand gestured to the unresponsive spy, but his eyes never left the young woman.

Eva Draper looked up at the older man, swallowing with difficulty, as if fighting back nausea. Well now, this was interesting…

Did she care more for the boy than M had first anticipated?

Chuckling to himself, he continued to address her, saying conversationally, "I expect he'll die before too long, but you should know, I learned some time ago how to keep someone alive, even with these kinds of injuries." Perhaps he was _trying_ to provoke her, but he had to admit, he was curious. Would she react? "The broken ribs, the stab wound… the internal bleeding…" His eyes lowered to the restrained captive, waiting for some kind of reaction despite already knowing he wouldn't get one. "I'll keep him alive; don't worry."

She trembled slightly, but whether from fear or anger, M could not quite tell. His curiosity increased, and he persisted, "Of course, keeping him alive means I get to do more to him, but we'll be far away from this place before I get the time. I'll just let him sit and suffer until I get to have my fun, hmm?"

"Stop it," Eva Draper whispered, provoking a delighted grin from the man looming over the hostage. He waited for her to continue. He wouldn't be disappointed; "Haven't you hurt him enough?"

Quite simply, M responded with a firm, "No." His smile had faded just slightly, but was still very much obvious. "No, my dear, I wish to break him completely. I want him to beg before I let him die."

"Why…?" Her voice was apprehensive, as if frightened, but there was a quiet, fierce defiance in her eyes that he hadn't really seen before. It intrigued him madly.

"_Why_?" He laughed. "Why, you ask? Oh, Miss Draper, because I _can_." His smile had disappeared now, and he locked his eyes on hers meaningfully. "Because I enjoy it. Because I enjoy the feeling of breaking a man who believes he can do anything; beat anyone. I love nothing more than winning, and this sadistic victory is the best kind. I've broken him already, in body, but his mind is still fighting… all he needs is that last push, and he'll be completely gone. He won't be a spy, or a member of the '_League_'… he'll simply be a scared, beaten boy begging me to kill him."

And then she reacted, just as he'd hoped she might. She moved with a surprising speed, but he was still ready for her. He threw his cigarette beneath his boot heel so he wouldn't set the place on fire, and grabbed her wrists as she lunged at him with a yell of anger, spinning her around with ease and shoving her up against the wall. She gasped loudly, trying to fight against him desperately, but he had her pinned completely; he made sure of that. The last thing he wanted was for her to hit him where it _really_ hurt. "And Miss Draper," he began in a cold, quiet tone, his face close to hers, "you should know one more thing…"

He let her away from the wall, backing up a little before lashing out and striking her across the face with the rear of his hand. As she stumbled from the hit, landing not far from Sawyer, he added in conclusion, "I'm not above hitting a woman."

* * *

Refraining from holding a hand to where the Professor had struck her, Eva looked up at Tom's face from where she lay sprawled on the ground, holding herself up feebly with one arm. He was unconscious, completely, and apparently hadn't even stirred at the commotion she had just caused. The realisation made her want to frown, but she fought against it, trying to see just how much more damage had been caused since she last saw him.

_Tom, please wake up…_

Needless to say, he didn't respond to her mental pleading. In the next moment, a hand wrapped around her arm roughly, and hauled her to her feet. She came face to face with the Professor once more, noting the anger there. She had _angered_ him. Eva wasn't sure whether to be proud of that, or to regret it, but she supposed she would find out soon enough.

"Get to the bedroom," he snarled at her, and the bottom of her stomach dropped out coldly. Looking down fearfully at Tom, she hesitated. She gasped again when the grip around her arm tightened. "_Now_." Without releasing her, he reached down and grabbed Tom's collar roughly, threatening as he did so, "Or I'll make another hole in the brat."

It was enough to make her move. Even though she knew the Professor planned to kill Tom in the end anyway, she could give him that time, no matter how little. As much as she hated herself for it, there was nothing else she could do.

* * *

The team that moved over the vast field of white were no longer clad in protective clothing, with insulating collars and boots. Now, they walked, ready for battle and with determination. Dr. Jekyll was gone, replaced now by Mr. Edward Hyde, who walked fiercely at the rear of the group, led by Skinner, Quatermain, Nemo and Mina. The other men walked behind them, prepared and armed for combat.

Mina Harker was at the forefront of the procession, hearing the rustle of leather as the team's invisible man shed his clothing once more to become lost in his surroundings, as if he had never been there in the first place. She could smell him overtake her, even as her enhanced sense of sight locked onto the two guards who roamed near to their intended point of entry. Skinner's reconnaissance had enabled them to concoct a plan, no matter how loose it really was. It was better than nothing.

Knowing that their mourning had been for nothing did not bring Mina the relief it really should have. Knowing that M had had Tom Sawyer all this time, abusing him… it was enough to make her want to destroy the man for himself… even if Quatermain _had_ declared they needed to capture the villain. She didn't see the point, personally. Even if under false pretences, they had been hired to stop a madman, and she planned to do just that. But of course, she had volunteered to stop Gray. It was her business, and her right. It was a loose end she planned to tie up once and for all.

Skinner crept forward, ridding one man of his firearm, subsequently using it to rob the same guard of his consciousness. By the time the second guard had realised the dilemma, the floating gun was alerting him to the presence of Edward Hyde. Mina took her cue, and exploded into a cloud of bats, surging ahead to rush through the barred openings. The darkness swarmed around her, heavy with the stench of decay and misery. Not allowing it to cloud her senses, she coiled out of the tunnels on the other side, swiftly doubling back on herself after dispatching of two more guards brutally and briskly. They were cast aside, their necks torn open or simply broken, and before long, she was coming up on the bolted door that was keeping the _League_ outside the fortress.

She didn't fail to notice the rather red mess in the snow where the second guard _had_ been standing, Hyde looming over it like a predator.

Permitting them all entry, she led them all down the shadowy hall, back into the cracked and looming chamber she had entered in bat form. The bodies were ignored as Nemo's men spread out to secure the area, and the five members of the team turned to one another; quiet, grim and prepared. She looked to Quatermain specifically, seeing the tense readiness there. His plan flashed through her mind again.

Nemo and Hyde were to free the prisoners, and liberate the scientists; Mina was going after the treacherous Dorian Gray; Skinner was to plant the bombs they had brought with them, in the vital places he had mentioned back in the cave; and Quatermain's mission was to find M and rescue Sawyer.

The huge form of Hyde was the last to come to the circle, and glancing around at them all, he offered his hand out to the centre of the group. The others looked briefly to one another, before, one by one, they each placed their hands down, one on top of the other. As a team, albeit a fractured one, they stood united.

_Now or never_. The cold voice in Mina's mind made her stand up straight and tall; she was now more a fighter than a lady. Her hair was free of all trappings, and curled in a feral manner, and she wore leather garments that would allow her to move freely in combat. Her long coat billowed softly in the Mongolian breeze that tore through the cracks in the fortress, causing it to ripple around her heels and ankles as if it were alive.

Without a word, the team broke off, and went their separate ways.

Keeping Skinner's directions in her mind, Mina moved instinctively.

Finding Gray's scent, she followed it quickly, and with ease.

* * *

Freeing his mind somehow from the darkness that had engulfed it, Tom fought against a groan, managing to open his eyes just as figures were leaving the room, walking down the steps nearby with purpose. He recognised the white dress of the one in front, and the arrogant stride of the second, even with his head throbbing and vision spontaneously swimming in and out of focus.

Eva. And M…

It took him a moment to realise what had been going on, but his hazy brain put the pieces of the puzzle together, and he almost struggled in his chains to try and call their attention back; in the hopes that M would spare Eva whatever horrible treatment she was about to receive. But even as he tried to move, everything _burned_, and tears filled his eyes blindingly. He bit down hard on the gag, shaking as a result of the swarming pain, and almost blacked out once again. The realisation that he could barely even move without agony was disheartening, but even as he knelt there uncomfortably, chained down and up respectively, he… _remembered_… had it been a dream?

_Huck…_

Tom's eyes closed and the images that came into his mind, hazily, were confusing, but somehow very _real_. He wasn't sure how, or if it was even possible at all, but somehow knowing that his late partner had tried to comfort him — even if only in a dream — gave him the last bit of confidence he needed to not resign himself to his fate right there. He had to hold on, and wait just a little bit longer. No matter how dark things seemed, the _League_ would come… they _had_ to.

He only wished he could help Eva, just as she had helped him in the cell, when she had treated his wounds, if only because she had been ordered to by M. The gag in his mouth prevented him from using his voice, as weak as it probably would have been, and the injuries were keeping him from moving. What _could_ he do?

_Just wait_, a voice said simply in his mind. _She'll fight her own battles. You need to fight yours_.

At that moment, his battles consisted of not blacking out so quickly, and keeping from letting the nausea rise. Feeling utterly exhausted, he kept as still as he could, to save himself more pain when it wasn't necessary, and listened to his own unsteady heartbeat; focused on it to keep his mind in some state of awareness, and to perhaps try and calm it. He knew it was a hollow hope, to calm his heart when his body had taken so much punishment, but he had to try, at least.

_They're coming_, he told himself again, eyes closing as he tried to concentrate. _Just a little longer. They're coming…_

_**To Be Continued…**_


End file.
